


girls are not meant to fight dirty

by makapedia



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anti slut shaming tho lbr, Easy A AU, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rumors, Slut Shaming, Spin the Bottle, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makapedia/pseuds/makapedia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rumors of Maka Albarn's promiscuity have been greatly exaggerated. Easy A AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

" _So_."

Maka can practically  _taste_  the awkward and she hasn't even kissed him yet.

Seven minutes in heaven is  _never_  a good idea.

She rubs her sweaty palms on her skirt and tries to will away her nerves. Maka counts to ten in her head and focuses on breathing, the patchwork quilt pinned beneath her knees, anything but the boy seated across from her, muttering and swearing under his breath. Things like " _Why did I even come?"_ , and " _Stupid fucking Black Star"_  and, Maka's personal favorite, " _Jesus hot sauce Christmas cake,"_ fall nearly undetected beneath the romantic and sensual sound of  _My Humps_. Kim Diehl's playlist could use some work, Maka thinks drearily, because kissing the cute boy in her English class while listening to lyrics about some other girl's junk isn't exactly enticing. No matter how cute the boy.

And he's  _very_  cute, even if he doesn't want to be here. Her fragile thirteen year old heart flutters in her chest excitedly; the terms may not be ideal, but she does want to kiss him, and her face burns further at the thought of finding out what his lips feel like. What any pair of lips feel like against hers.

It's shedding her childhood and becoming an adult, and she's been ready to ditch the kid gloves and move on to bigger and better things for  _months_.

"... The music is loud," she mumbles, tugging at the hem of her skirt.

"It's shit," he grumbles. "Fuck."

She winces. He's started swearing a lot more lately, much like the other boys in her class, and she suspects it's because he thinks it's cool to drop f-bombs. Maka thinks it's crude and immature, personally, but she does nothing more than crinkle her brow and stare at his knees.

With a shrug, she attempts to continue the conversation. "It's better than  _Stacy's Mom_. Poor Jackie had to settle with swapping spit with Black Star to  _that_ song."

"And Sexy Back," he shakes his head. "This playlist is terrible. Kim needs better taste."

Maka giggles nervously. It might've been the punch she sipped earlier, though. She can't really tell. "You're such a snob."

"Am not," he huffs. She finally works up the nerve to look him in the face. He's nearly as red as his eyes, just as jittery as she, and not at all the cool guy persona he likes to portray when he's kicking his feet up on his desk and telling her father to stuff it. It's a little endearing and a lot nerve wracking, because she thought she was ready a few moments ago but now she's not sure, not now that he's drumming his fingers on his thigh and taking shallow breaths.

They exchange a look. There's an excited pulsing in her blood and she really hopes it's not barf she feels bubbling in her throat.

"So," she tries again. Soul fidgets. "...  _Five_ minutes in heaven-"

"Yeah, about that," he cuts her off. His voice is strained, cracking, and only half of it is due to puberty. "Can't we just… tell people we kissed?"

Rejection stings. She will not cry, she refuses to cry in front of him. Maybe later, buried in her pillows and holding her new puppy close to her heart.

"Oh," she blurts.

Soul burns and slouches into himself. If his posture was any worse, he wouldn't have a neck - he would just be a ball, a blob of a boy and messy white hair. His awkward growth spurt has left him gangly and lanky and genuinely uncomfortable, she can tell, and this situation just throws off his groove all the more. It's abundantly clear that Soul Evans' tongue will not be in her mouth anytime soon. The revelation is disappointing as it is relieving (tongue kissing sounds weird but apparently it is good, according to Liz, and Maka is nothing if not curious).

She hopes it's his nerves that keeps him from scooting closer and not him not wanting to kiss her.

The look he gives her is pleading. Desperate. Self-conscious. A billion other nouns that make up this confusing, frustrating enigma of a boy who she doesn't want to lie about.

"... Yeah, sure," she amends. "No problem."

He gives her a slow, nervous smile and bumps his knee against hers. Butterflies shoot through her like wildfire and she gulps. Crushes will be the death of her if this is how they always play out.

"Thanks, Maka," he mutters. His voice doesn't break, barely a whisper, almost incomprehensible underneath some other shitty middle school houseparty jam. "I owe you."

She kind of wants to choke. Definitely cry, but not because he won't kiss her - because he doesn't  _want_  to. It's like a slap to the face. The  _worst_ wake up call.

Numbly, she forces a brave, gentle smile and holds up a pinky to him. Soul stares at her for a long moment, searching, calculating, and Maka wants to curse beneath her breath but doesn't. She wonders if following his lead and dropping a few f-bombs will relieve the strain in her chest, the chill in her stomach.

She feels silly for picking out her outfit so meticulously. For texting Liz for hours pre-party, asking which skirt looked best with which top and which outfit made her look the least like an elementary student playing dress up. For wearing strawberry-scented lip gloss in hopes that the bottle would land on Soul when she spinned it.

For thinking her crush went both ways. Was she really that bad at reading the signs?

Maka bites her lip. From outside the door,  _Don't Cha_  pulsates and blares. Kim shrieks and Harvar's bored tone drowns out the sound of Ox whining.

"No problem," she lies. Maka wills her shoulders not to quiver.

They lock pinkies and shake on it. His hands are just as clammy as hers.

"So," he clears his throat. Maka sits taller. "Do you think Tsubaki and Liz made out where we're sitting."

Maka crinkles her nose. It's gross to talk about her two best friends playing tonsil tennis, but it lightens the mood immensely and she's thankful for that. "Definitely. I'd know Tsubaki's perfume from a mile away. Liz was practically bathed in it."

"Black*Star's gonna cry."

"Give him a few more drinks. It's only a matter of time." 


	2. Chapter 1

"Oh, come on! When have I ever asked you for anything?"

Maka snorts as she stuffs her calculator into her book bag. "Yesterday, when you begged me to grab you a caramel frappuccino during my free period?"

"That doesn't count."

"The line at Deathbucks was  _out the door_."

She flashes a smug grin at her and readjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder to sit more comfortably. Sure, she has the benefit of late arrival because of higher-than-average SAT scores, thanks to a grueling Junior year, but that doesn't mean Liz is always entitled to her time. More often than not, Maka uses the extra hour and a half in the morning to go for a run, or maybe grab a smoothie - being her best friend's latte monkey isn't exactly on her list of things to do. And she had said no, initially, until the wave of pleading texts and  _please, for me, I'll owe you forever_ came piling in.

Maybe she's just too soft for her own good. It's hard for her to sit and let people suffer, though, when she can do something about it. Even if it means hauling her butt to Deathbucks during the busiest hours of the morning for Liz's coffee fix. Call her a martyr, a sucker,  _a pushover_ , whatever - Maka can't sit and watch people hurt on good faith. Even if they deserve it, be it because of their own forgetfulness or otherwise.

Liz rolls her eyes and tosses a long, golden braid over her shoulder. "It's not my fault that everyone and their mother decided they needed their fix during  _your_ free period! And this is different," she stresses, turning and planting herself in Maka's way. "This is important.  _Please_."

She's using her height to her advantage and it's entirely unfair. Maka's lips curl as she stares up at her. Being short has its disadvantages, and being eye level with her best friend's chest often leaves her a little too well acquainted with Liz Thompson's cleavage. She doesn't particularly feel like being smothered in tits so early in the morning.

"Life or death, huh?" Maka asks playfully.

"Of my sex life?  _Yes,_ " Liz sighs. She takes Maka by the shoulders and stares into her eyes. "I know you wouldn't understand, but-"

"Hey!"

"-  _But_  it's been awhile since I've had a good hook up," she continues, ignoring the heat in Maka's glare and the way her nose flares. "And Kilik is hot. I just need you to come with, because otherwise Black Star is going to interrupt, and I am  _not_  down for any three player action if he's involved. He's not my type."

At least she has standards. Still, it's not enough to warrant Maka consenting to go out on a double date with her. She can still remember the last time she agreed to one of Liz's schemes to get laid - she  _still_ can't look at poor Kid the same way, and that was  _months_  ago. Calculus is officially the most uncomfortable class on her schedule because of it, and they're the only two in the accelerated learning portion of the class. Even worse than that, she grew up at Kid's house, because their fathers are business partners and that's just so many years of playdates down the drain, now that she knows what Kid's penis looks like from across the table and under a napkin.

Dammit, Liz. There are just some things better left to the unknown. Kilik's junk - and hopefully Black Star's appetite, be it at the dinner table when someone else is shouldering the check or in the backseat of his car, while he's "in the zone", can remain a mystery for years to come.

"One," Maka begins, slapping away Liz's hands. "Ew? Two, no way in  _Hell_. He'll think he's getting some with me, and I don't feel like playing babysitter to my neighbor."

"He's not  _that_ bad."

"Liz," Maka says, very seriously. "I've seen nudes."

" _No._ "

"Yes," she nods her head solemnly. "And it's not pretty."

There's a pause in the conversation as Maka gently nudges her aside and begins walking again. The hallways are crowded first thing in the morning and she doesn't particularly want to be  _that person_  who clogs the pathway because of petty teen drama. She just wants to get from point a to point b with the least amount of revulsion and headaches.

She only gets as far as her locker when Liz collects herself and continues her tirade.

"... He doesn't trim, does he?" she asks thoughtfully, as Maka opens her locker. She groans out loud and slams it shut immediately. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"I hate you so much. I'm thinking about it again," Maka groans. She vowed  _never_ to think of it again, and yet here she is, picturing it all over again. Like watching a train crash, she just can't seem to look away. His penis is tragic, horrible, and forever engraved in her subconscious, just ready to hop out and scream " _YAHOO"_  at her at the least opportune time. Like now.

"Is he hung?" she presses.

She slams her locker shut again and presses her forehead to the cold metal of the door, hissing.  _These_ are the mental images that haunt her nightmares, she thinks blearily, clenching her eyes shut and willing away the memory of the  _blue abyss_.

"Look alive, Albarn!"

She's drawn out of her (horrific) reverie by a deep, lauhing voice. Maka pinks and jerks back, ears burning, to find Soul Evans grinning rakishly at her. "Stay up too late last night reading your text books?"

She focuses on watching him unlock his locker and summoning back her pride. Having her thouhts string  _pubic hair_  and  _Soul_  so closely together kind of makes her head spin in a funny way. He reaches effortlessly to grab a notebook from the top of his locker, arms long and lanky, and Maka tries hard to to stare too blatantly at his forearm. He's not even built that impressively, quite skinny, actually, but his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and _that's_ something that makes her fingers itch. How can anyone with such light hair be as tanned as he is?

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he snorts, watching her bristle. "Damn, you  _must_  be tired. You haven't even nagged me yet."

"Don't push your luck," she scowls, ripping her locker open again. Liz yelps and takes a large step away, narrowly avoiding a door to the face. "Did you even brush your hair?"

Soul yawns and attempts to summon a dented-looking text book from the bottom of his locker. There is no sense of organization. It's just a pile. "Yes,  _mom._ "

"Your fingers don't count. Do you own a comb? I bet your hair is crunchy from all of that hair gel you caked in there."

" _Maaaa_ ," he croons. "You're cramping my style."

"Soul!"

His locker shuts and he reaches to ruffle her hair. Pigtails drooping, he laughs and tugs on the right one slightly, straightening her out. "You're gonna be late," he lectures. "Hurry up."

"You're a distraction!"

He flashes her a peace sign. She flips the middle finger, howling " _jerk!_ " and catches the side of his smile, lips tugging up and cheeks bunching and  _oh,_  there's that cute dimple. All these years later and he  _still_ has the same cute smile, sharp teeth and all.

That's just how they work. They bicker, they banter, she nags and he tugs her hair, and then he's gone. Maka presses her English homework against her chest and exhales, looking over the rise of his shoulders fondly as he (hopefully) walks to class (and not to hide out and skip in the boy's room). Without his slouch, he's a good deal taller than her and the rest of the class. She can remember a time when he was barely her height, with caving shoulders and a crooked spine, and complained about back aches and sore necks constantly.

"... Ass," she mutters fondly.

Liz whistles low, arms crossed and leaning on the lockers as she watches him go. "Wow," she mumbles. "You are  _so_  in love with him."

Pigtails whipping, she turns and practically dives into her locker. "I am  _not!_ "

Liz's laughter roars through the halls. She presses one nicely-manicured hand against the top of Maka's locker and grins at her. "I bet you'd agree to the double date if it was Soul that was tagging along and not Black Star," she taunts, and Maka rips herself away from the cage Liz's arms have trapped her in at once, huffing. "I bet he'd be happy to  _babysit_  you."

Maka sniffs and raises her nose in the air. "You're disgusting."

"I'm not the one who still wants to bonk her middle school crush," she defends swiftly, dodging a swat to her shoulder. "This has been going on for years, Maka! When are you going to work up the nerve to ask him out already? You're not getting any younger! Live a little; you're seventeen, you're not meant to spend all your nights reading and practicing the quadratic equation or shit!"

"He's not interested!"

"Oh, he's  _so_  interested. That boy watches you like a hawk. Probably looks down your shirt when you're not paying attention."

Maka gasps, offended. "There's nothing to look at, and you know it! He's said so before."

"Yeah, when he was thirteen," Liz cackles, slinging an arm around her. She tugs her close and walks alongside her, elbow locked around her neck, and Maka stumbles as her face is tucked between Liz's breast and her armpit. The lacy trim of her bandeau scratches her nose uncomfortably. "He's not stupid. All boobs are good boobs, Maka."

"Says you," she huffs. Her attempt to break free of Liz's choke hold is in vain, and Maka does an awkward hobble-crouch walk alongside her.

"Yes, says me. I  _like_  boobs. In fact, your boobs are fine. I've seen you naked plenty of times. You've got great nips, dude."

It's supposed to be supportive but Maka splutters incredulously anyway. Liz hasn't seen her naked that many times, actually - she's only seen her fully topless on a handful of occasions, while wiggling into a tight dress for a formal occasion or changing into her bikini in the back of Liz's jeep. She wears sports bras more often than not to school, so changing during gym class never warrants semi-public boob displays. There's no way she's intimately familiar with her  _nipples_.

"I- you- You have  _not_ seen me naked that often!"

She releases her after a bit and shrugs innocently. "Often enough. You don't have to have big tits to be attractive."

Maka manages to sneak in a glare as she rubs the back of her neck. "I'm putting up a curtain in my room the next time you sleep over."

Liz rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. I'm not a peeper. You know I'd never try anything… but hey, if you want proof that you're sexually appealing-"

"Whatever you're about to say, please don't."

"- You could come out on a date this weekend With me and Kilik, and Black Star-"

"Oh my god," Maka interrupts, brows drawn, "I'd rather deep throat a pool noodle."

Her best friend stops only for a moment, surprised, probably, that she worded it so crudely, but what can she expect? "You're not busy!" Liz chuffs. "Come on, please? I'll do anything."

" _Liz_."

"I can't believe you're being so selfish," she cuts bluntly. "This could turn into something really good for me and you're going to let the opportunity go to waste? Who are you and what have you done with Maka Albarn? Some friend you are."

Oof, there it is - the  _guilt card._

She really tries to stand tall and fend off the staggering sense of responsibility that clots in the pit of her throat. Really, she's not the type of person who can walk away from something like this - a favor for a friend, a cry for help - but the whole thing is so difficult. Dating isn't her thing, has never really been her thing; the select few she's embarked on without Liz's presence or help have gotten her nowhere, aside from an awkward first kiss that left her lips feeling wet and her stomach uncomfortable and curling. Besides, going on a date with anyone she doesn't have feelings for just seems counterproductive. Why bother if she knows it's not going to go anywhere?

Why bother if it's with  _Black Star,_  especially, who she has seen literally taking a dump in her father's rose garden and howling when one of the thorns jabbed him in the ass. It just doesn't make sense. She will never want to kiss him. She'll never want to actually call him her significant other, or want to hold his hand or actually see his genitals for real.

Maka isn't a hooking up kind of girl. She's not innately very sexual. That's not to say she's a prude, because she's not - she knows what goes on when Liz sneaks off at parties or Kim steals her laptop to talk to her long-distance girlfriend - but she's just really, really not interested in getting that down and dirty with someone she's not in love with.

"... I don't know…" she says warily.

"I will owe you  _forever._ "

She already does, Maka thinks, crossing her arms over her meager chest. She stares Liz down with authority and squares her shoulders - she will not give in to peer pressure! "No."

"But-"

"No," Maka clarifies, swallowing her pride, "... because I'm busy this weekend."

Here goes nothing. She crosses her toes in her boots and hopes that this will go off without a hitch. It's asking for a lot, but she's pretty sure she deserves a break.

Liz squints at her. "... You are not."

"I am. I have a… a date."

" _Liar._ "

"I do!" She stands her ground, arms tight around her chest. Picturesque, like a statue, ready to defend her little white lie until the end, for the sake of her mental well being and probably her appetite. Something about sitting across from Black Star performing fellatio on a basket of breadsticks while Liz and Kilik flirt doesn't sound like a good Saturday night to her. "So I can't go on a date with Black Star this weekend. Find someone else. What about Tsubaki?"

"He'll eat her alive."

Maka regards her with an exhausted look. "Trust me, she'll be into it."

Liz pauses, then taps her lip in thought, considering it. Maka holds her breath. Finally, Liz continues, mumbling, "... Tsu  _is_ kind of kinky…"

Thank  _goodness_  for Tsubaki's, erm,  _interesting_  -  _acquired?_  - taste. After glancing at her watch and deciding yikes, she needed to be in class about five minutes ago to get the best seat, she makes a show of waving at her best friend and sneaking away hopefully without spilling more details of her fabricated date, but Liz is too fast and latches a hand around Maka's wrist.  _Caught._

Groaning internally, she prepares herself for the most grueling interrogation of her life. She should've known she wouldn't of been able to get off the hook that easily.

 


	3. Chapter 2

Needless to say, she doesn't  _actually_  have a date.

But  _that_ technicality doesn't stop her from shrinking out on best friend duties. At eight o' clock sharp, Maka plants herself on her bed and cracks open a good book instead of sitting wedged against Black Star in the booth of a restaurant, and victory has never tasted sweeter. A reread of the entire Harry Potter series sounds like a better way to spend her night, and as she nestles herself into her blankets and flicks on her television, she's glad she doesn't have to worry about any gross guys slobbering over her food or watching Liz flip her long hair over her shoulder and flutter her lashes.

Harry suits Maka just fine. Or Ron; she's always had a bit of a soft spot for the Weasley boy. There's a part of her that'll always be fond of jerks with a heart of gold - so what if she's got a type?

As eight turns to nine, and nine turns to ten, though, the guilt really starts to set in. She wonders how Liz's date has gone, if Black Star really did try to devour Tsubaki, if Tsubaki kept him in line - who's bed Liz is sleeping in, especially, is a concern, and Maka rolls onto her stomach to grapple for her phone, lost somewhere in the depths of her comforter. She'll just send one text, she thinks, as she navigates from her lock screen to her messages app, just to see how things went and if she's safe and happy with the outcome. Even if she's a shitty best friend for lying and weaseling her way out of the, uh,  _romantic evening_ , there's a mothering, worrying part of her that still wants to know that everything is okay.

Which, low and behold, is an unreasonable thing to fret over. Maka squints at her screen, just to make sure that yes, that is indeed Kilik's bare ass she is staring at and yes, Liz sent her selfies of the aftermath.

A laugh catches in her throat and she's unsure if she's supposed to be horrified, amused, or both. She settles for both. One this is for sure - Liz is a hunter and she always will be, and the girl knows how to get what she wants. Count her impressed, though. Maka always knew Kilik was physically attractive and fit to boot, considering all the gym and fitness classes they'd been through together, but he has some tight glutes. Objectively speaking, Liz made bank.

She crinkles her nose. Weird thoughts, weird thoughts, and how did Tsubaki fare? All things considered, she's the true potential victim here. Kilik is genuine, handsome, and fun to be around. Black Star, on the other hand, is a  _headache_.

Maka's just about to swipe away to find Tsubaki in her contacts when Liz sends another text her way. Not a photo this time, just a message - " _How'd your date go? ;)"_

She sends a sidelong glance at the pile of books lying beside her on her bed. She was just about halfway through the second book in the series, so not bad, not bad. Her popcorn bowl had toppled over and spilled onto the floor about twenty minutes ago and her water glass needs refilling, though, so it could use some work.

Humming thoughtfully, she texts back. " _Good! Probably going to stay up late with him."_

It's not a lie, she thinks. She is going to stay up past her bedtime to get some recreational reading done. The double entendre, though, slips under her nose undetected until she sees the familiar bubble pop up as Liz begins her response, and Maka swallows thickly - oh, shit, she's implied that she's getting it on with this mythical boy  _that doesn't actually exist._

" _Pics!"_

Something tells her that sending a picture of the mess of fallen kernels and popcorn all over the floor won't sate her appetite.

She has to think fast.

Leaping out of bed, she shoves her books under the blankets and attempts to arrange them into any sort of human-like lump. There are too many square edges, she notices, and attempts to fluff her comforters to give less of an obvious appearance. Her cat mews from at the foot of her bed, tail swishing curiously, and Maka collects her bundle of love into her arms and sneaks her under her pillows. It's not perfect, but it'll do. Her bedroom is dark, flash is optional, and if she shuts one eye and tilts her head, it almost looks like there's someone in her bed. It'll have to do.

Maka hefts her shirt over her head.

It's just one picture, she tells herself, as she whips around and looks at her reflection. Just one picture to send to Liz to prove her faux innocence, and then she will never entertain the subject again. It doesn't have to be a nude, and maybe she can keep her bra on-?

The pigtails have to go. She shakes her hair free of its restraints and combs through the thin sheets of blonde framing her face before thinking better of it and headbanging. She has to look tousled, like fake boyfriend Harry has ran his fingers through his hair maybe a few times before drilling her into her squeaky mattress. She pinks at the thought and kind of wishes she had more makeup at her disposal - because maybe a few fake hickies here and there would help the cause, but then again, her art skills aren't exactly notable, so perhaps it's for the better. The messy hair and toplessness will have to do.

She almost doesn't recognize the girl staring back at her. Shirtless, wild hair, panicked eyes. This isn't her. She isn't a liar.

Regret pools in her gut. It's too late to go back now. All or nothing.

Maka decides against keeping her bra on and slides it down her arms. It's a boring garment, anyway. Plain, black, standard fare - not a push up bra, so it doesn't really do anything for her non existent cleavage anyway. She's already running stories through her head as she settles into her bed and poses herself, draping purposefully over the lump. Her date got to second base and felt her up, shirtless, and then they cuddled and watched  _Casper the Friendly Ghost_ until they passed out. She did not go all the way with this near stranger.

Her cat squirms beneath the pillow, tail peeking out, and Maka sighs.

"Nooo, Blair, sit still," she soothes, tucking her fuzzy black tail back beneath the blankets. "Just for a little bit. Mama's sorry!"

Maka doesn't take out her phone and snap the picture until Blair has settled. She arcs her wrist, bites her lip and tries her damndest to look ravished, which is hard, considering the most she's ever been through is an awkward first kiss outside of Applebee's from one  _Ox Ford,_  after a study date went awry and ended up being an actual date that she hadn't planned on.

Is there a sexy way to position her mouth? What about her hair? How much boob is too much boob for the shot?

She swipes through the few pictures she's already snapped and snorts. Worrying about too much boob in a shot won't be a problem; sure, she might have an entire tit in the shot, but there's not much boob to look at. She's mostly nipple with just the slightest swell of breast. It's nothing provocative, she thinks with a sigh. It's more like looking at a ten year old boy at a pool party than a seventeen year old girl trying to appear titillating.

 _Titillating_  isn't even in her dictionary. Such words can't refer to her, she thinks darkly, and aims another shot a little higher, censoring a nipple from view.

It's better. The lump of books jabbing into her hip don't look quite so bumpy, Blair's tail isn't in the shot, and Maka doesn't feel  _too_ scandalous with the amount of nakedness she's displaying in the shot. The entirety of her collarbones are fine; she's quite sure there are more sexually appealing parts of her body than her chest anyway.

It's the best she's going to do. It's the only proof she can supply, after all, and if she's caught red handed she'll never live it down. Maka doesn't want to think of the fallout that'll come with Liz finding out the truth - that she really, truly doesn't have a date and that she's lied to her. But it's not like Liz ever gave her the chance to politely decline! It's a sin, _she knows_ it is, in terms of best friendship and girlcode and whatever, but it's still not fair of Liz to always assume she will have her back like that. It's not fair of Liz to throw her in the fire like that.

Maka compiles the message with notable remorse and a distinct sinking in her gut. Pulling the wool over her friend's eyes never feels good, never settles well with her, but what choice does she really have? She has to commit, now. It's too late. And it's not like Liz is purposefully malicious; she's not going to show these pictures to anyone else, sans maybe Patty. She's safe. She's  _fine._

It's not until after she hits send does she realize she was still on Tsubaki's contact information.

Terror burns in her throat. Tsubaki didn't spend the night with chill, understanding Kilik, who probably wouldn't be hovering over Liz's shoulder.

Oh,  _no._  Tsubaki spent the night with  _Black Star._

* * *

Word travels fast, but nudes travel faster. Like  _lightspeed_  fast.

Which is funny, because Maka's pretty sure that half the students in her class have never gave a rat's ass about her bare chest in the history of forever. And if they did, it was just for the sake of teasing her. Middle school was harsh when it came to body image and puberty, and Maka was no exception; in fact, the only time her boobs were the talk of the town was when she was thirteen,  _because_ she was a late bloomer and the only girl in her class without anything to fill out her eighth grade graduation dress. Her peers only cared enough to poke fun at her less developed body - never enough to whisper as she walks down the hall and stare suspiciously at her chest.

It's the first time anyone has ever catcalled at her. Maka grinds her fist into her palm and clenches her teeth. Whoever did it is cruising for a bruising, but first, her neighbor has to pay.

Walking down the school hall has never been so infuriating. She's never been the talk of the town before, not like this; the only time her name has ever been in the school news was because of a spelling bee in sixth grade.

Maka feels like her no good, rotten papa. These eyes are judgemental, instigating, disapproving. Her sexual exploits have never been front and center because up until now, they were non existent, as far as everyone else was concerned. Nobody gave a damn about her when she was Maka Albarn, second in their class and rocketing rapidly towards first. They seem to care a lot now, though, that she's Maka Albarn, topless and nearly boobless wonder, daughter of  _Spirit Albarn_ , English teacher, who has slept with half of the female teachers in the district.

 _Like father like daughter,_ she hears whispered after her, and her blood rushes in her ears.

She's nothing like him. This isn't real. Her date, her night,  _the sex,_  the picture - none of it is real. And no one will believe her, not even if she tried. Backing out would prove pointless. Why bother, if it will only draw upon Liz's rage?

She finds Black Star shooting the breeze with, who else, Kilik and  _Soul_ , cackling about god only knows what and leaning on his locker.

"You complete and utter ass!" she thunders, marching her way over to him with fire in her veins and slams her fist into the locker beside him. It shutters and clashes nosily, and his eyes widen, just enough, in surprise, before he collapses into a smug grin and she burns. "What the heck is wrong with you?! Do you have a death wish or something?!"

Both Soul and Kilik take a noticeable step back. Her rampage knows no bounds, though, so she glares at them while they look on curiously; Soul shrinks back, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking anywhere but at her, and Kilik raises in hands in surrender.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Black Star jeers, grinning infuriatingly. The urge to break his nose is hard to ignore.

"You know  _exactly_  what I'm talking about!"

" _Hey,_ " he peels her fist from the locker and shoves it away. He's probably attempting to be intimidating by stretching to his full height, but he's a short guy and barely stands taller than her, and  _she's_  five foot three. "I made you a star. You should be thanking me."

Kilik and Soul exchange a weary glance. Maka quivers in her boots, actually, legitimately shaking with rage. "Are you kidding me?!"

"Who knew you had tits?" he guffaws, leaning towards her. "And stop your shouting, peon. I only sent it to my man Soul and  _your_  girl Liz. Mostly because Soul's never actually seen a real girl naked and I thought he might like the treat," he smirks, and Soul aims a punch at his head. Maka doesn't miss the way he blushes and she wants to die. "So yeah, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not the one who posted it on Twitter."

" _What?!_ " she hisses. "Twitter?!"

"Congrats!" he throws up his arms ceremoniously. "You're a cam girl! I didn't know you had it in you, bookworm!"

The burning her her throat just won't quit. "That picture was  _private,_ " she chokes. She's completely unable to meet his eye, never mind  _Soul's_  - she doesn't even want to think about what he might think, and knowing that he's seen the evidence of her fake midnight tryst leaves her soul feeling heavy and her heart sore.

"Not that private, if you sent it to Tsu."

"It was meant for  _Liz!_ "

"Why?" he quirks a brow. "So you could show off?."

"N-No, she just-!" She throws her fists down, frustrated. "I don't have to explain myself to you!"

He shrugs. "Who was he?"

"Excuse me?!"

"Who was he? Your fuck, I mean," he leers, and ew, he's absolutely disgusting when he's acting vulgar.

She bristles. "He- His name was Harry," Maka says slowly, teeth clenched, "and I didn't have sex with him."

"You didn't hit it and quit it?"

"Dude," Kilik warns.

"I didn't  _hit it_ at all!" she shrieks, grabbing his collar and tugging him up to her face threateningly. He doesn't quiver in fear, even for a moment, just continues to smile infuriatingly and waggle his brows at her. "What kind of girl do you take me for?!"

"I'unno," he says. "Not the type that'd send topless pics to her friend while she's out with another guy, that's for sure. For a brainiac, you're kind of a moron."

" _IT WASN'T MEANT FOR TSUBAKI_."

"I don't know why you're so worked up," he confesses bluntly, slapping her hands away and straightening himself out. "So what, you fucked the guy. Are you upset that everyone doesn't think you're a pristine, perfect little virgin anymore? You've practically eighteen, Maka. 'Sides, there's nothing wrong with having sex, pipsqueak. About time, if you ask me. You've been so high strung for years."

"I'm going to set fire to everything you love," Maka threatens darkly.

He sneers and gets up in her face. The smell of his Axe body spray is overpowering and her nose bunches up in response. "I didn't post your nudes, Maka," he growls, still trying hard to tower over her and look imposing, leaning up onto his toes. "They're not  _that_ impressive."

It takes both Soul  _and_ Kilik to physically restrain her from beating the everloving shit out of her childhood friend slash neighbor. They're not enough, however, to mute her as she screams threats and promises to break his nose and mail all of his stupid snapbacks to Timbuktu. The cursing, though, is what really gets Dr. Stein's attention - because, he says as he plucks her out of her bro-restraints, he can ignore her creative threats and respect them, but when foul language comes into play she's forcing his hand.

She drags her feet as she walks. Really, she has no one to blame but herself for this predicament; okay, maybe Black Star a little, for being a devious little runt, and Liz, for thinking more of herself and her sex drive than Maka's happiness in that moment, but it's still her own fault for lying and taking the damn picture anyway. The whispering has only increased tenfold after her little explosion, and instead of hanging her head and taking it in stride, Maka takes to glaring at everyone who looks at her the wrong way.

Not the best way to make friends, perhaps, but definitely a decent way to keep her temper in check and her out of further trouble. Her teacher's grip is firm, but Maka knows she could wiggle her way free and chase after Black Star if she really wanted to. What she wouldn't give right now to slam dunk him into a trash bin and sit on the lid until he begged for mercy and forgiveness.

It's so much easier to be angry at Black Star than frustrated with herself. He's a simpler target, a effortless outlet for her irritation.

"He's an asshat," Maka hisses under her breath, as her science teacher leads her down the hall by her wrist. "A complete and utter douche canoe. I hate him."

Professor Stein, her pseudo uncle and godfather, chuckles dryly. "Oh, I'm sure."

Just because she  _does_  have connections in the school system, though, doesn't mean she has immunity when it comes to getting in trouble. Perhaps this is karmic justice for her sins as of late - accidentally texting the wrong person sexy pictures of her and her fake boyfriend snuggling, lying to her best friend, accidentally tarnishing her flawless reputation… the list seems to keep growing.

Still, though, it's worth a shot. She pulls down her lower lip delicately and attempts a cute pout. If he were Papa, she knows it would work.

"Do I really have to go to the principal's office?"

"I'll tell Marie to bring you over a snack from the guidance office. Did you know they get a microwave?" he adjusts his glasses. "I keep trying to make popcorn over a Bunsen burner."

Maka groans. "But - he deserved it!"

"Next time, think before you scream insults at the top of your lungs. Really, though, good job on the Shakespearean ones.  _Canker-blossom_  is perhaps my favorite."

She feels a smile coming on and laughs despite herself. "What, no love for  _wimpled doghearted apple-john?_ "

"Ah," he smirks. "A classic."

"... Would it help if I apologized?"

"Cute, but no. Chin up, though. It's your first offense. I can't imagine you'll be struck with anything too devastating as a punishment."

Her perfect, spotless permanent record will be tarnished. Maka mourns the days of yesteryear, when she didn't get herself into trouble - or worse,  _detention_  - over silly, irrelevant things like  _boys_  and  _sex_. It's only then, as she rounds the principal's office door and Professor Stein bids her adieu, does the heat set in her face as the reality sets in. Her picture is on the internet. Everyone in her class, maybe even her school, has now seen her naked from the nipples up.  _Soul_ has seen her bare collarbones and shoulders - as has Kid, Kilik, Patty, Ox, hell, even probably  _Hiro…_

She's never felt quite so inadequate and powerful simultaneously in her life. Maka gets sick in the trash by the secretary, just as Miss Marie shuffles in and rushes over to hold her hair, wielding a plastic baggie of gummy bears and some Sunchips.

She's really not cut out for this fame business.


	4. Chapter 3

"So," Hiro says conversationally, all the while scraping a moist wad of gum noisily off of the science lab table. "What're you in for?"

Detention _blows_.

Maka groans and slides down to lay on the floor. Holding her arms up while sitting to scrub the graffiti off the bottom of the table proves to be exhausting, no matter how sturdy her arms are, and she rubs her forearms sluggishly while squinting at his knee. For someone in detention, he's dressed quite nicely - or maybe he's supposed to be, she thinks, because she's no fashion expert and not quite sure where plaid pants fall on the trend spectrum, but they look like they're worth a pretty penny.

Worth too much, truly, to be worn while scrubbing gum off tables.

"Swearing in the halls," she answers, idly straightening a lackluster pigtail. "Picking a fight."

"Oooh, _delinquent_."

She grins wrily and flexes an arm at him. "Bad to the bone."

Thoroughly distracted from the task at hand, Hiro laughs amicably and leans back in his seat. She likes to think it's because of her killer wit that he's chuckling, but knows that it's probably more because it's not terribly exciting to wipe graffiti from lab tables. He crosses one leg over the other and his knee bounces, his expensive-looking loafer jostling dangerously close to her shoulder. Goodness gracious, even his socks look nice, what was the guy thinking when he got dressed this morning?

"And you?" she asks belatedly, flashing her glance at him. "What did you do to earn yourself the pleasure of weekend detention?"

"Oh," he pinks curiously, biting his lip. Maka raises her brows curiously. "Uh. Took the fall for a friend."

"A friend would be in here with you, helping you clean Sharpied penises."

Hiro snorts. "Yeah, well, he's not really one for manual labor."

Not that Hiro is either. Maka eyes his slender shoulders and pretty hands, the misplaced scabs along his knuckles and purple band aid hugging the bridge of his nose. She doubts he's ever had to really work a day of his life, but the cuts along his fingers are interesting. _Suspicious_.

He catches her stare and winds his hands together in his lap. "He wanted a hand-picked bouquet of roses."

"And you did it?"

"... He's a _good_ friend," Hiro amends, rosy, and Maka realizes with astonishing clarity that this _special_ friend of his is definitely his _boyfriend._ His high maintenance, fleety boyfriend, apparently, who thinks it is okay to let Hiro spend his Saturday scrubbing desks clean. The dawning on her face must be obvious, because his brows furrow and he looks at her with conviction, a surprising hardness in his eyes, and says, "He didn't mean for me to get in trouble, you know. You don't know him."

She blinks back the shock. "I- no, I know. I just think it's sad. If I got my boyfriend in trouble, I'd back him up."

Hiro snorts, still pink, and nudges her shoulder with the toe of his shoe. "You've never been in a committed relationship with an older guy, have you?"

"An older… Hiro, you're a _senior,_ " she blurts, confused. He grunts noncommittally, rubbing his thumb over a faded, smudged 'PEN15'. Maka holds her breath and tries to settle her jumping stomach, the nerves that urge her to push forward and ask why, why, why would he surround himself with someone like that? Instead, she purses her lips and asks, slowly, "How much older?"

"... I'm eighteen," he admits. "So it doesn't matter, does it? He's not a bad person. He's just very… boisterous."

"And he gets you in trouble?"

She rewinds and replays. _You've never been in a committed relationship with an older guy, have you?_

_Committed._

Practically giving herself whiplash, she turns to glare at him, pigtails whirling. " _Wait,_ " she hisses, icy hot rage burning in her throat as she shoves his leg off of his lap and pushes herself back, ready to get on her feet and brawl if push comes to shove. "What is that supposed to mean, anyway?! If you've got something to say, tight pants, come out and say it!"

"Nothing!" he wheezes, all semblance of the backbone she'd glanced at moments before melting spectacularly in the face of her anger. "Nothing, just… well, I know about the picture."

"The _picture,_ " Maka repeats, hands clenching on her lap. "Right. Of course, the picture! You've seen it, then?"

"... You can sleep with whoever you want," he says, "but I don't think you have any right to get on your high horse and lecture me if you're a minor and sleeping with college guys that you're not even dating."

"How do you know I'm not dating them?!"

"Are you?" he asks weakly.

She fidgets. Squirms. Presses the palms of her hands more firmly into her lap and hates Liz, hates Black*Star, kind of hates Soul most of all, and grumbles, "No," despite her pride. The so-called _secrets_ of her (non existent) sex life are out, open for the world to see, and Maka still finds it more humiliating that the entirety of her school knows what her tits look like than the fact that she's allegedly slept with a college guy. She glares down at her chest, her lap, as if her body is malleable and her sheer force of will can transform her into some sort of bombshell.

"Well, there you go," Hiro says after a beat. He starts his scrubbing again as Maka sits there, lock jawed and staring at the black, dented leg of the lab table.

Returning to the task at hand isn't appealing. The ache in her forearms only festers the more she thinks about laying back down and working on scraping dried wads of gum. No, no, never mind. There are more important matters at hand - for example, setting somebody straight about the whole fiasco. The truth burns her tongue, dangerous heat ready to spill and she has to get it out, and Hiro's the lucky (or unfortunate, she can't tell) contestant.

"He's not real, you know," she tries to say it passively, as if one might say _it's nice out_ or _I didn't finish the homework,_ but her voice cracks and she curses to herself feverently. Hiro stops scrubbing to stare at her. "I made him up to get out of a double date."

"You took nudes to get out of a double date?"

"I didn't mean for them to get leaked!" she squeaks.

He shakes his head, rubbing a tired hand into his neat hair. "And you're letting everybody think you did it on purpose?"

"No!"

"Rumor has it that you guys didn't use a condom," he says. Maka practically spits on his nice loafers. "You gonna squish that one? Because I didn't think _you_ of all people would want the school thinking that you're seventeen and pregnant."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, bristling like a cat.

"You just… don't seem like the type. You know."

"No, I _don't_ know."

"Just… considering your dad," he pauses delicately. "And stuff. I know a bad reputation is better than no reputation at all, but you're not exactly a nobody. You're a shoo-in for valedictorian. I just didn't take you for the type of person that would let her reputation get sullied over something as silly as pride."

Maka sniffs and busies herself with scrubbing gum again. Anything, _anything_ is better than allowing herself to punch the lights out of Hiro; if detention is a slippery slope, Maka really hopes it doesn't lead to true delinquency and the disbandment of her morals. "I can be smart and sexy at the same time," she huffs, working diligently at something obnoxiously fruity-scented.

He shakes his head. "It's messed up."

"It's not _real_ ," she says. Maka becomes more focused on picking the stickiness out from under her nails and less on the disappointed loom of his stare. "It's not like I'm actually sleeping with anyone, right? And in nine months, when I'm giving my speech at graduation, obviously everybody's going to know I'm not pregnant."

Hiro pushes his chair out. The legs skid nosily over the tile, squeaking and clattering as the back hits the lab table behind him. "If that's what you think, Maka."

It _has_ to be.

And he clearly doesn't get that. Putting in the effort to explain why she had done what she did - and why she really, really can't correct the rumor mill without endangering her friendship with Liz - seems fruitless, exhausting, and Maka's head hurts enough just knowing Soul thinks she's slept with some college freshman who's skeevy enough to prey on flat, nerdy high school girls.

Maka tightens her grip on the razor and finally, finally wedges her way beneath a particularly gross glob of gum. It slops onto the ground with a stomach-curdling splat. Maka's brows bunch together as she reaches for the paper towels and scoops the mess off the floor, groaning under her breath, and Hiro forces out an anxious laugh. The sound is welcomed over the tension that looms between them, and when she sends a glance at him over her shoulder, he smiles nervously and brandishes the bottle of off-brand Windex like a weapon.

He aims it at a pigtail and pulls the trigger. "Pew pew."

* * *

The last person she's expecting to see waiting to pick her up from detention is Soul Evans. But there he sits on his motorcycle, helmet tucked under his arm, squinting at her through the afternoon sunlight.

"Get on loser," he hollars, grinning wolfishly at her before tossing the helmet at her. "We're going shopping."

Maka finds herself spluttering, narrowly catching the skull-emblazoned helmet before she makes her way over to his parking spot. He leans forward, elbows on the handlebars as he raises a brow at her and for the life of her, she can't figure out why he's _here_. She had planned on walking herself home and maybe stopping to grab some ice cream on the way to cheer herself up, not go shopping with Soul, of all people.

From behind her, she hears Hiro stifle a little laugh and her blood burns, warming her face profoundly. "Drive safe!" he calls, and Maka looks over her shoulder to catch him slinging his knapsack over his shoulder and digging his keys out of his pocket.

Soul rolls his eyes but lifts a hand to wave him off all the same. "What's he doing in detention? Always took him as more of a goody-goody pushover."

Her brows furrow. "Soul, what are you doing here?"

"Thought you could use a ride home," he says innocently.

"How did you know I was here?!"

Soul rolls his neck, face scrunched up until she hears a crack and pop before he sighs. "Black Star ran his mouth. I kinda figured you were gonna get in trouble anyway, considering the way you were screaming in the hall, but he went off bragging about how he finally rubbed off on you and how you earned yourself your very first detention."

How twisted. Maka tosses the helmet back at him. "You're driving. Put it on."

"We both know which one of our brains is worth preserving, Maka, and it's not my fat head." The helmet is lobbied back to her, and before she can object, he's absently rubbing a shoulder and shifting his weight on the bike. "Besides, I wouldn't let you on without a helmet and I've only got one."

She gasps, affronted. "Then I'm not riding with you!"

"It's fine," he assures, rolling his eyes. "We'll take back roads. I'm a safe driver. I'll use my turn signals and everything."

"And what if we crash? What then?"

He smiles sardonically, full of infuriating wit and a terrible flippancy over his own well being. "Then I leave all of the unfinished homework in my locker to you, lady Albarn," he cooes, chuckling when she balks and shoves the helmet his way again. "I'm serious though, Maka, get on."

"Why should I?" she huffs. "You're just going to _bully_ me!"

"Over striking fear into Black Star's heart? Fat chance. I'm taking you out for burgers and fries as a token of my gratitude. Consider it a reward for taking a new level in badass."

And before she can say anything else, he's standing up, his height towering and impressive as he stuffs the helmet over her head, pinning her pigtails against her ears uncomfortably. He pats her head and she grasps her new headgear, holding the sides until he's done jostling her poor brain around. He chuckles and leans back, folding his arms over his chest and admiring the view.

She refuses to smile but dammit, he's cute in that leather jacket and she'd been half afraid that in light of her sexual debut things would be weird between them. It's comforting to know he's still the same old Soul, whether or not he thinks she's slept with some Harry fellow in community college. Despite her best efforts, she cracks a grin, and his face lights up noticeably. It's nothing like sunshine, but there's a crinkle around his eyes and his lips spread wide into a smile - in Soul terms, it's definitely dazzling.

Maka peeks up at him, even with the helmet weighing her down and her hair elastics pressing uncomfortably against her temples, and asks, finally, "Are you mad at me?"

His smile is quickly replaced with a raised brow. "Why would I be mad at you? Black Star gets on my nerves all the time too, nerdbrain."

"No," she says, staring very suddenly at her feet instead. "... About the pictures. I mean. It was weird, right?"

He clears his throat. "Unexpected, yeah, but - Maka, why would I be mad at you for seeing some guy? I'm not your _dad._ And you're free to see whoever you want, even if I think the pictures were a little… posed."

" _Hey!_ "

"And the lighting was shitty," he adds, smiling sadly when she tips her head up to glare at him. Something shifts inside of her, throat tight, and he lifts a hand to adjust the helmet. He dusts his fingers gradually over her forehead, pushing her dusty bangs from her eyes and giving her a one-shouldered shrug the longer she stares at him. "None of my business who you sleep with. Just let me know if he does anything shitty so I can help Black Star chase him out of town."

She's thirteen again, sitting across from him on Kim Diehl's bed, and she swears she can feel her heart break all over again. Unsure of whether she wanted him to be upset over her seeing someone else or not, she braces herself, clutching her fists tightly at her sides and swallows thickly. There's heat behind Soul's gaze, warm red eyes that have always made her a little dizzy and breathless, and she nods mutely, unable to gather her voice long enough to let him in on the truth.

Resigned, she lets out a breath and makes her way over to his bike. She swings one leg over the side and sits, hands at the ready to grasp the bar on the back to balance herself.

Soul stuffs his hands into his pockets and continues to stare curiously at her. "What's that face for?"

"Huh?"

"Nothin'. You're just..." he trails off, watching her face. Now is not the time to blush, especially since she's reminded all over again that, despite Liz's incessant claims, he's _not_ into her like that. "... You look sad. He, uh, he was alright, wasn't he?"

Guilt sinks in her stomach. It's not real, she remind herself, and could very well open up and tell Soul the truth - that there is no college guy, she's still an everything virgin, that she lied in order to get out of an awkward double date with Liz - but can't find the words. Instead, she leans forward and presses her hands against the warm leather of the seat, muttering, "No, he was fine."

"Just fine?"

She shrugs wordlessly. "I guess I expected losing my virginity to feel more special. I mean, I know it's just this social construct, but… I thought the first time would make me feel more adult. I guess. It's stupid."

Because telling him the truth is apparently out of the question. Because apparently it's okay for her to tell Hiro the truth - Hiro, who has no real connections to her life, who holds no real weight in her life. Part of her wonders if she's afraid to tell Soul the truth because of what he'll think of her, as if lying about having sex is actually worse than having sex. Hiro's doubts swim in her head, maddeningly, and she stares down at her hands instead, fingernails bare of any nail polish and bitten short.

She hears him exhale, and then, "Guess he wasn't really that great of a guy, then."

Maka laughs humorlessly. "A perfect gentleman. He had a few hard edges, though. And he kept me up all night."

"Did he use protection?" Soul asks, more serious than Maka can ever remember him. He's so damn protective over her, like a brother, and she wishes it was something more but knows better. He hadn't wanted to kiss her all of those years ago - why would he want to kiss her now?

Maka nods mindlessly. "Yeah."

"Good." He pauses, watching her, considering her, before walking over; Maka lifts her hands from the seat and then Soul's ass is in front of her, settling comfortably on his motorcycle and she's lifting her gaze to the backs of his shoulders instead, swaddled in worn leather. She contemplates bracing herself on his waist, for a moment, but thinks better of it and grip the bar behind her instead.

She holds her breath and counts to ten, hoping it will soothe her aching, fluttering heart. It doesn't.

"I'm not seeing him again," she blurts.

Soul's shoulders shift. He looks back at her, red eyes deep with something she can't uncover and smiles that same sad smile again. "Cool. The first time's always awkward, Maka. Don't sweat it."

Her blood thrums in her ears, louder than the purr of his engine, and Maka moves her hands to settle on his waist, safely over the thick material of his jacket. The leather is warm from the sun, smooth beneath her hand, and she tries very hard not to think about how nice it would have been to spend the night with him instead. _Special,_ even. Then she wouldn't of had to lie to Liz, wouldn't of had to make up an elaborate ruse as to why she couldn't go play wingman so Liz could get her sexy on, wouldn't of had to threaten Black Star and get detention in the first place.

There were certainly no wolf whistles whenever Soul lost his virginity. In fact, she can't even place the moment in time where he might've lost it. There had been no scandal, no rumors, nothing; Maka squints at his collar and wonders why that was. He's well known at school. Maybe not popular, but certainly _known,_ and the talk of many twitterpated freshman girls.

But then again, he didn't have pictures to prove his tale and make it famous. His barely-there tits weren't on perfect display on Twitter. He didn't have shitty guys blowing up his phone and asking what he was doing later.

No, he has a motorcycle and a cool reputation.

And she has her books, her pigtails and no boobs to speak of. To top it all off, apparently she's some college guy's easy lay.

"Hold on tight," he says.

"You should really be wearing a helmet!" she choruses again. "I don't want to spend my spring break mourning you!"

He snorts and takes off; Maka jerks back and hugs herself to his back, Soul speeds out of the parking lot, and she can't help but feel a little jealous of the girl that was his first.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s/o to proma and lucy for betaing this one! it needed a little tlc ♥

The ride to the burger joint isn't filled with their characteristic banter, but Maka doesn't find herself minding it too much. There are plenty of other things for her to worry about - her mangled reputation, how she's going to deal with her father when she gets home, who he lost his virginity to, her leaked nudes, Hiro, _Liz_ \- to keep her mind off the way Soul's stomach muscles move as he shifts beneath her palms. She's still blinking back the sunlight as he shifts the bike into park and hops off, holding a hand out to her lazily.

"Fall asleep on the ride here?"

Maka purses her lips and watches him stuff a hand into his pocket. The ghost of his slouch is back, sagged shoulders that he's long since straightened. She clears her throat and pulls herself to her feet without his assistance, reaching out to pinch his palm in response. "Stand up straight, Soul."

He recoils, face scrunching up. "Ow! Just trying to be helpful."

"I appreciate it," she says. "But shoulders back. Your posture doesn't need to suffer just to help me off of a bike."

Soul rolls his eyes and stuffs his other hand in his pocket. When he doesn't immediately straighten up, she kicks a knee up, bumping him in the butt and he flails, tossing a look at her haughtily. "Hey!"

"Shoulders!"

He grumbles and stands straighter, mumbling, "Whatever, Mom," under his breath.

By the time they've sat down at their booth and the waitress has brought their drinks, Soul and Maka have comfortably fallen back into their ways - Soul distractedly drumming his fingers on the table while she scolds him for taking up all the space under the table with his long legs. He bumps a knee against hers and grins purposefully. Maka steals a sip of his Oreo milkshake and flicks him in the nose when he fusses over her potential backwash. To know that they can fall so easily back into step with one another brings her enormous comfort, and when Soul catches her smiling about it, she holds up her menu to hide her beaming face.

Maybe she can keep Soul and maintain this facade at the same time. Maybe she doesn't have to sacrifice all of the normalcy and good things in her life just for the sake of not getting caught in the act of lying.

He hums as he plucks the menu out of her hands. "No hiding, Albarn. What's so funny?"

"Nothing!" she insists, though the buzzing in her cheeks refuses to dull. Sitting with him has always brought her a quiet sort of thrill, because even though his long legs are an inconvenience when it comes to sharing a table, their clumsy bumping of knees always feels a little less like friendship and a lot more like flirting to her. And on this battlefield of one-sided attraction that she's on, she'll take anything she can get - even if it's something as miniscule as the way Soul's lips quirk when her foot bumps his shin.

He slides an elbow onto the table and rests his chin in his hand. "Liar."

"No!"

"Is there something on my face?" he asks, laughing when she tries to snatch the menu back. Soul shoves it behind him, plants it under his ass and leans closer, mouth open as he breathes heavily in her face, asking, "Is it my breath?"

"Soul!" she shrieks, mashing her palm against his cheek. "Ew, gross! You have mystery meat breath!"

"Cafeteria special," he teases. "Something in my teeth?"

Mouth still open wide, Soul drags his tongue along the face of his teeth and she tries hard not to stare but it's _distracting_. His tongue is long and talented, curiously pointed, as it glides over pointed teeth, back and forth. Perversely, she wonders what other things his tongue could do, how far it could reach - but the thought is cut off as Liz Thompson shoves her way into the booth, knocking her into the wall, horrified.

"Christ, you two," she says. "Get a room if you're going to make out."

The misplaced arousal sinks and shatters. Uncomfortable, Maka shifts and stares at her hands, determined not to glance at Soul's mouth again, lest Liz catch her in the act of wanting him again. She barely notices Tsubaki as she gently apologizes and asks Soul if she can sit down.

"Uh, sure," Soul mumbles, scooting over until his foot is brushing against hers again. Maka swallows thickly. "What're you two doing here?"

"Getting food after school?" Liz snorts. "Not a weird thing to do. But the better question is what are you two doing here? On a date?"

"Come off it," Soul groans, tearing at a napkin irritably.

Maka coaxes herself into an even breathing pattern. Now is not the time to come undone, she thinks tensely. "He picked me up after I got out of detention. We stopped because he was hungry. Nothing new, Liz."

"Detention is new," Liz says, raising a brow. "Very new. Do you know what else is new? Your sexual prowess."

Soul sits back and lazily tosses Maka's menu back at her. Unfortunately, her appetite is newly spoiled. Between all the drama of discovering her very private pictures being posted online and trying to knock Black Star's teeth out, she'd forgotten that she hadn't touched base with Liz yet about what went down that night. Which is a sin in the best friend world, really, and a giant oversight on her part - why hadn't she expected Liz to want details?

And now she gets to spill all with Soul not even four feet away. _Grand._

"I - um," she blurts nervously. "It wasn't really prowess, Liz…"

"You lost your virginity! You have to tell us everything," Liz leans in, snatching the menu away and handing it to Tsubaki. "The first time is always a little weird, don't worry. But was he good? What was he like? Did he use a rubber?"

"We used a condom!" she squeaks. If there's one rumor she's going to nip in the bud, it's the pregnancy one; good god - the entire student body doesn't need to think she's walking in her mother's footsteps verbatim.

"How old was he?"

Suddenly her ability to think on her feet is crucial. She watches Soul shred another napkin and shrugs, as if it'll make her seem less interested in Harry Whatshisname. Maintaining general indifference is crucial. There's too much on the line here; she can't let anyone think she's in love with this nobody, not when he doesn't actually exist. How can she maintain a lie when he's not real? It's not a matter of begging someone to play along with her and fake date her - Harry isn't real. He's a bunch of fantasy novels and a cat stuffed under her blankets. Literally.

She twists a pigtail between her fingers nervously. "Twenty-one."

" _Twenty-one_!" Tsubaki gasps. By her side, Soul's jaw sets. "Maka, that's - that's _illegal!_ "

"Yeah, well, so is posting pictures of me online, but that didn't stop your boyfriend," she hisses.

Tsubaki shakes her head slowly, a slender hand lifting to cover her mouth. "Oh, no - no, Black Star would never! I know it was wrong of him to send those pictures to Soul, but he would never post them for everyone to see. He means well, really."

Maka slides her hands down and clenches her fists on the table. "They weren't _meant_ for Soul."

He shifts and stares out the window. _Sorry,_ she thinks, because while the thought of him seeing her less than fully clothed does funny things to her stomach, the circumstances make it impossible for her to feel anything less than anxiety. Maybe in a different world, Soul accidentally getting ahold of her nudes would be exciting and a little breathtaking. The intention behind _those_ pictures are a lie - they're not meant for anyone but Liz, proof of a night that didn't really happen.

There's a tiny, feeble part of her that had always sort of hoped Soul would see her naked someday. But not like this.

Liz whistles. "I've always pegged you for the type of girl to go after an older guy. You're too smart for gross high school boys."

Maka laughs tonelessly. "College guys aren't much better."

"It's just so unlike you," Tsubaki manages to say after a while, setting her hands down on her lap. "You're always so adamant about your father when he sleeps around…"

"That's different," Liz says, stilling Maka's shaking hands. "Her father cheated on her mom. Maka's not _dating_ anyone. She's seventeen and finally exploring. I say go for it, as long as she has safe sex. Besides, all the talk over Maka's sex life pisses Ox off. He's cracking. Maka's bound to beat him out for valedictorian if he can't stomach the rumor mill chattering about her."

"No, I know!" she amends, and Maka's stomach boils restlessly. "I just… I didn't expect it, that's all. I was really worried when I got your picture, Maka. Who was he? Will you be talking to him again? Did you know him before all this happened? Wasn't your dad home?"

The burn of their stares melts her nerve. Buck up, she thinks, and reaches for her pink lemonade. "Papa was out," she muffles around her straw, sucking up her drink to buy time to really think her lies through.

Tsubaki shifts, hands pressed tightly to her lap as she leans forward. Lying to Liz brings its own sort of guilt (she feels like the _worst_ best friend in the world) but lying to Tsubaki is another matter entirely. Her eyes are kind and concerned, so genuinely worried for her well-being, and she can't even soothe her with the honest truth - that no, of course she's not sleeping around with random college guys she's just met. The lemonade feels more sour than before as it goes down.

"... And I won't be seeing him again," Maka answers finally, cracking under the weight of their stares. Soul breathes out through his nose. "It was weird. And not as special as I really wanted it to be, so… Harry's out. "

"Harry," Liz snorts. "I've never heard of a hot Harry. Good choice."

"Boyband?" Soul quips grumpily.

"No, have you seen his hair? Terrible."

"I think he's alright!" Tsubaki chimes.

"You also think Black Star is fuckable. Which, by the way, _ew_."

Maka sips her drink again, hastily avoiding eye contact with Soul. He's right across from her, just as close as he was before, but he feels so much farther away. Tense shoulders, gruff expression - he doesn't budge until the waitress comes back with their food, and then he's biting into his double cheeseburger and demolishing his fries without so much as a glance at any of them. Their hands brush as they simultaneously reach for the bottle of ketchup.

"Sorry," she says quietly. "It's yours if you want it."

Soul nudges the ketchup bottle closer to her and says nothing at all, instead nudging Tsubaki and scooting out of the booth. His keys jingle as he stands. "Gotta piss."

Liz and Tsubaki chatter away, but Maka finds herself missing Soul's banter after all.

* * *

**unknown number (6:42) : Can I ask a favor of you?  
unknown number (6:42) : This is Hiro btw**

* * *

"Do you have anything in here that isn't a sweater?"

Maka sits on the edge of her bed helplessly as her detention buddy come fashion consultant tears through her wardrobe. A pile of thrift store sweaters lays at her feet, discarded in a frenzy as Hiro chuffs and holds up a dress to the light. It's an older one from her middle school days, when she had a thing for ruffles and buckled collars, and he bunches up his nose in disgust as he looks at her.

She balks defensively. "What? It's cute!"

"It's _bad,_ Maka."

"It was seven bucks! How can you go wrong for seven bucks? I wore it to 8th grade graduation."

He drops it on the floor and holds a hand to his forehead. "No wonder you always look like an overgrown toddler. You still have stuff from when you were thirteen."

"Hey!"

"I mean it in the best way possible," he says soothingly, dropping another three of her favorite sweaters into the discard pile. "It's just - if this is going to work, you're going to have to not look like a prude."

This whole night is a bad idea. _Catastrophically_ bad.

Even if everything goes right - which, odds are, they _won't_ \- the rumors are going to fly. When Maka said she wanted to meet Hiro's older, flakey boyfriend, she didn't mean at a party, and not while she's holding Hiro's hand as they stumble off into a private room. Or as private as they can get, anyway, at a _house party_.

But Hiro had been so desperate for help when he asked and Maka was still feeling the aftershock of guilt that came with lying to her friends, so maybe she'd been a little too generous when she told him she would have a fake threesome with the two of them at Kim's upcoming party. She can't even begin to fathom why they want to have a false orgy with her, especially not as Hiro tears apart her taste in clothing. He had said it was something about his boyfriend wanting the attention and exposure, but part of her thinks he wants to help her get some of the attention off of her nudes - and instead of her topless pictures, they'll be talking about how talented she is for being able to handle two guys at once. Is it better or worse? She's unsure.

One thing is for certain though - if Ox is unnerved (read: _jealous_ ) of her being the talk of the town over a few pictures, he'll blow his gasket once tonight is over. And if the seventh grade spelling bee was any evidence, he cracks under pressure. The top class rank is _hers._

Her only solace is knowing that Soul won't be there to witness the show she's about to put on. He never attends parties like this anymore. He must've learned his lesson back in middle school - spin the bottle never was his forte, so something tells her he'll like hooking up at a party even less than being nearly forced to kiss the likes of her.

But it had been impossible to say no, especially as the more pathetic texts had come rushing in when she expressed her concerns. Maka might not be able to understand the woes of dating an older, rich man, but she does understand the weight of insecurities and the nerves that come with fear. Of course she cracked under the pressure of Hiro's begging and pleading - who is she to ditch someone in love and afraid of losing it?

Maka collects her beloved puppy sweater from the floor and shoots him a look, cursing her infernal need to help those in need. "I dress fine, Hiro."

"None of this is party wear. Do you own any plaid?"

Somehow, she thinks his plaid vision will be worse than showing up to Kim Diehl's house party in her old Christmas onesie. She saves face by jumping up and wedging herself between his tyranny and her closet. "I'm pretty sure I have a pleated skirt in here somewhere."

"It's not knee length, is it?" he asks blearily.

"No." Maka fishes it out of the bowels of her closet and holds it up to herself. It's certainly not prudish, if that's what Hiro's worried about; it's _short_ , sitting high on her thighs, just barely stretching down to her fingertips. Which, on anyone else, wouldn't be too bad, but she's about eighty percent legs.

Hiro's eyes light up. "I can work with this."

And once again, Maka is unceremoniously seated on her bed as he continues digging through her closet. When he can't find a suitable top, he takes to shoveling through her dresser in his quest for party wear. His enthusiasm for dressing her to the nines is admirable, sure, but when he opens the top right drawer and pulls out a plain white bra, Maka decides enough is enough and clears her throat. He drops the bra and flinches, spine ramrod straight as he turns to smile apologetically at her, as if she hadn't just caught him judging her underthings.

"Bras are expensive," she says. "And it's not like anybody ever sees them but me, so why bother buying flashy ones? They just go under my clothes."

"You don't buy those secondhand too, do you?"

He deserves an _Order of the Phoenix_ to the face.

"I really don't think it matters that much what I'm wearing, considering nobody's going to see me take it off," she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. While Hiro rubs his face and checks to make sure his nose hasn't been damaged, she kneels on the floor and begins collecting all of the fallen sweaters off of her floor. "And where the heck is your boyfriend? I thought he was supposed to be here an hour ago."

"He texted me and asked your size," Hiro says fleetingly. Maka looks up at him in horror. "So your guess is as good as mine."

She shakes her head slowly, hugging the pile to her chest. "I don't want to look like a cheap tramp."

He sputters. "Showing off your goodies doesn't make you a slut, Maka."

"What goodies?" she asks darkly. With a particularly self-depreciating laugh, she continues. "I'm not exactly swimming in curves, in case you haven't noticed. Do flat chested sluts even exist?"

Hiro exhales loudly and drops down to kneel by her. "You don't really think too highly of girls that sleep around, do you?"

"Not just girls," she hisses. "Guys are just as bad, if not _worse_. Didn't you wonder why my Papa wasn't here to greet you at the door?"

Which is also the reason why nobody's there to stop Hiro's boyfriend from prancing his way in. He's exactly what Maka expected and also not at all; the pompous attitude and loud (loud) voice is precisely what the doctor ordered, but the fedora and chiseled good looks are a little much. He looks like he's been carved from marble, complexion pale but immaculate. His hair is just as white as Soul's but part of her wonders if his is natural or the result of an exuberant dye job. All in all, he looks like the best dressed fuckboy Maka Albarn has ever had the displeasure of meeting. And he's coming her way.

He smiles smugly. "Greetings! I suspect Hiro has filled you in and you're ready for a night of wonder!"

Maka drops the sweaters in her arms and wonders when the good lord will finally end her suffering. It must be punishment for lying, karmic judgement finally striking her down. No man wearing a fedora is worth her time, no matter how guilty her conscience is.

Which is funny, because aside from the terrible choice of headwear, he's dressed quite nicely. Pressed jeans, button up shirt, sleeves cuffed around his hairless, smooth forearms - he's like some sort of well-dressed dolphin with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. Unfortunately, the fedora undoubtedly ruins his otherwise flawless image.

"Excellent!" he says at once, interrupting her before she has the chance to disagree. "I took the liberty of purchasing a dress for you to wear this evening. Don't bother thanking me, I know I have great taste!"

"Oooh," Hiro cooes, holding the dress up, shifting it around as he admires the floaty swoosh of the skirt. "This will work."

Maka finds herself choking on her spit. "I - will it?"

There's not much to the dress. It's black and short, with a deep, scalloped neckline and an even lower back. It's the kind of dress she expects to see Liz wearing while out on a date - nothing she's ever even briefly considered for herself. It's not a terrible dress; it's actually quite nice and would probably look sexy and promiscuous on the right girl with the right curves, but unfortunately (or fortunately?) Maka's not that girl.

"How am I supposed to wear a bra with it?" she finds herself asking.

Hiro's boyfriend takes to primping in the mirror instead of looking at her while he speaks. "You don't need a brasserie."

"It'll be better without," Hiro soothes, offering a hand to her as she stands. "Besides, anything puppy printed wouldn't look very good under this little number."

"Hey! I have black bras!"

"But you don't really _need_ to wear a bra with this dress."

"But-"

" _Fool!_ " still-nameless-boyfriend exclaims, turning and smiling dazzlingly at her. "My advice is sound! Hurry up and change; Hiro still has to put your face on for you before we can depart! A good first impression is everything, and I only mingle with the finest of people. Consider yourself blessed!"

The expression 'cold feet' doesn't even begin to cover it for her. Maka gawks at the two of them as they toss both the dress and a pair of black pumps at her, wondering where in life she went so wrong, wondering if maybe, just maybe, lying about her sex life is worse than actually worse than having sex. The holes in the plan are numerous - why would they show up at the party just to hook up? - and if she's being completely honest, while she feels for Hiro, because his boyfriend is a narcissist, she's not really all that up to putting on a show for his sake. He could do better. He _should_ do better, no matter how undeniably handsome this man is.

But it's not just for him, she tells herself. It's for her own good, too, in an odd, twisted sort of way. Do it to put Ox in his place. Do it for her pride. Do it to impress _Mama._

She thinks of Hiro's texts only hour before. How can she back out now that he's kissing his boyfriend on the cheek so comfortably? At least someone will have their happily ever after, if not her.

"Can I at least get your name?!" she squawks, shooting the both of them a dirty look as neither of them avert their eyes as she tugs out her pigtails.

"Fool! You may scream out ''Excalibur' in the throes of your false passion," he says smugly, hands on his hips for added drama.

Maka gives him the stink eye. Not on his _life._

Hiro coughs into his hand. "'Cal' is fine. You'll have to excuse him, he's a little excited."

At least someone is. She hefts her shirt over her head and shoves it at him irritably, making sure to cover his face with it. "You _so_ owe me."

He lowers the shirt and smiles nervously. "What's the worst that could happen, right?"


	6. Chapter 5

Kim Diehl's house parties are kind of a big deal.

And not just because there's always a hearty helping of horny teenagers grinding up on each other and or that she has a really kickass heated pool.

Okay, sure, that helps, but it's more because of Kim's hot ( _hot_ ) older sister with the bountiful curves and penchant for low cut shirts. Kim's general badassery and good looks are reason enough to rocket her towards the top tier of the social hierarchy, but mix in a bombshell older sister who enjoys chaperoning the underage drinking that'll inevitably take place, and it's no wonder Kim is the most popular girl in school.

Maka wonders briefly if it will be as terrible as she suspects Her experience thus far with popularity has been decidedly sour; she's gone from Maka Albarn, class nerd to Maka Albarn, floozy who sleeps with college guys in the matter of just a few days. It's got to be a new record. The dress rides high on her thighs, not any shorter than her normal pleated skirts, but something about the circumstances (and probably the low-cut front and her depressing lack of cleavage) makes her want to cover up or hide behind Cal's pompous stride.

More than just a few people stare as the three of them walk in. Vaguely, Maka hears a _Ke$ha_ song play in the back of her head as the weight of it all finally sits in her stomach. Summoning her courage, she pushes her shoulders back and tightens her grasp on Cal's wrist. He shakes her away easily and strides forward, that frat-boy swagger in full force.

"Hey, Albarn!" someone calls. "Nice legs!"

Before she even has the chance to flip the guy off, Hiro's slinging an arm around her shoulder. He mutters, "Ignore them," into her ear, trying purposefully to look like he's whispering seductively in her ear. "Straight guys are basic."

She tries to smother her snort. "No offense, but most men are basic."

He laughs against her cheek and apologizes quietly before pressing his lips just behind her 'd already agreed on boundaries and what was fair game on the ride here, went over what made Maka uncomfortable and what really wasn't in Hiro's list of things he felt alright doing with a girl. The general consensus was face kissing is fine, lips included, as long as there's no tongue action involved and no boob touches. Still, he mutters a quiet "sorry" when he sinks lower and kisses her neck and Maka feels safe when the group of leering men look away.

She exhales through her nose. "Thanks. I could've snapped them in half, but that probably would've been in bad taste..."

"You think?"

She smiles bitterly. "Still, thanks."

Hiro squeezes her shoulder. "Not all men," he jokes, slowly meeting her eye before sobering his gaze. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

He bumps her head lightly. "Just follow my lead."

She has to. Part of the plan involves pretending to be piss-drunk and that's something Maka's never experienced before. Sure, she's seen her Papa come home after having a few too many and pass out on the couch with his shoes still on, but she's never been drunk herself. It's not so much her being prim as it's she has never really seen the point. The extent of her under age drinking is family game nights, where Papa and Uncle Stein drink leisurely while Aunt Marie lets her steal sips from her strawberry daiquiri while they play Skip-Bo. She's never been intoxicated enough to stumble. She's never been drunk, never enough to actually make a threesome seem like a feasible course of action.

She's also never had a boyfriend. And her first kiss was with Ox Ford, which was entirely disappointing and nothing more than an awkward mouth-touch, which means she's an everything else virgin. But she's supposed to be some super sexy femme fatale, right? Shouldn't she be playing the part?

Maka bumps his hip with hers. He nudges her back, and they stumble behind Cal together, dragging their feet and slumping along. The giggles aren't entirely forced - she's not buzzed, but trying to figure out how to believably lean with Hiro while they both remain on their feet is amusing, to say the least.

"YOU!" Cal exclaims. Kim nearly drops her plastic cup. "Tell me, girl, where is the nearest bedroom?"

Kim chokes a bit. "Excuse me?"

"My posse and I require privacy," he says very seriously. Kim leans to stare at the two of them and something in Maka's stomach shifts uncomfortably. Her eyebrows disappear beneath bright pink bangs and she shakes her head. "I will repeat: where is the nearest bedroom?"

"Depends," she grumbles. "Are you going to put a towel down?"

"Why would we need a towel?" Maka whispers to Hiro. "It's not like we're finger painting?"

"We will get the job done cleanly." Cal tips his hat. Maka barfs a little in her mouth, despite her lingering confusion - _is sex really that messy?_ \- as Kim points over her shoulder. "Many thanks!"

She watches Maka lean on Hiro with a raised brow and peculiar look in her eye. The suspicion is easy to decipher, white-hot as it burns the center of her chest, and Maka squeezes his arm and forces a giggle, teetering after him in kitten heels.

With every step, she gains a little more confidence. None of it really matters in the end. Kim's judgement is hypocritical at best, considering all the hookups and partners she has under her belt. Who is she to judge Maka for getting a little adventurous? Wasn't that what everyone always told her? _Live a little, Albarn. Let loose._ Why wait around for Soul if he's not interested in her?

She's let loose alright. Just to prove it, she smacks Hiro's ass as he trots into the bedroom before her, flips her hair and scurries in after him.

Maka slams the door behind her with a huff and makes quick work of locking it. The rumble of footsteps is like a stampede behind her and she rolls her eyes; expected, yes, but still _annoying._ Still, an audience is sort of the whole point of putting on a show, so she disregards the burn in her throat and pounds her fist against the center of the door for good measure.

Hiro squawks and rubs his behind, brows furrowed. "Did you have to hit so hard? Yikes!"

"Sorry!' she stage-whispers. "Guess I don't know my own strength. I just wanted them to be able to hear it."

Excalibur produces something black and lacy from his terrible hat and Maka sputters, indignant. "What is that?"

He strides over to the door and dangles a thong over the doorknob. "Evidence, my dear."

Hiro closes the blinds and adrenaline pumps through Maka's veins. It's probably an awful idea - a _terrible_ idea - but it's a challenge, and she's nothing if not stubborn and proud. When Hiro turns back to face her, Maka howls and tackles him onto the bed with a running start. They both gasp as they collide messily, legs tangling and foreheads bonking as they hit the bed. He shouts, kneeing her as he attempts to detangle a shoelace from the buckle of her shoe, limbs flailing.

"What the-!"

Before Hiro can finish, Cal's diving into the dogpile. It's apparent he's not one to be outdone, as he shoves an elbow into Maka's stomach, and she grunts and kicks, accidentally catching Hiro's soft hair in her fingers as she fights tooth and nail for dominance. The three of them tumble and squirm, trying to fish out their own legs and arms from the knot they've tied themselves in as Cal continues to grunt loudly.

If sex is a battle, she's going to reign victorious. If nothing else, she wants to exude power and grace, because her extent of knowledge of things that go bump between the sheets begins and ends with the sex scenes in her young adult novels that fade to black before any real fireworks happen. The vanilla stuff, to say the least. Not threesomes, with her sandwiched between two men.

"What porn have you been watching?" Hiro hisses. "Are you a linebacker or something?"

"Can't take the heat?" she taunts. "Don't you like it, baby?"

" _Children!_ " Cal practically booms. Maka winces - that's not really a kink she wants broadcasted for the better part of the student body, _yikes_. "Play nice. There is enough of Daddy to go around!"

"Daddy?" Maka squawks.

Hiro detaches her hand from his hair, wincing. "More moaning, less death grip. Trust me."

It only escalates from there. Maka learns quickly that she knows even less about sex than she had originally anticipated. Hiro leaps on the bed like a chimp on a mission, long arms flapping like he wants to take flight as his boyfriend pounds his fists rhythmically on the wall behind them. She stands between it all, knees wobbling as she struggle to keep balance on the trembling mattress, still in her heels and completely out of her element.

"Scream!"

Maka stumbles off of the bed. "I was under the impression that sex shouldn't hurt-"

"You're getting double penetrated," Hiro says very seriously, each word punctuated by a heavy breath. Jumping on the bed seems to be exhausting. Maka wonders if sex is the same way. "Scream."

So she does. A full, blood curdling scream. Gasps are heard on the other side of the door. Hiro waves his hands in front of himself wildly in 'x' formation, head shaking, muttering, "No, no, too much pain! It sounds like we're murdering you in here!"

"You said scream!"

"In pleasure!" he stresses, blue eyes wide with horror.

Cal slams his hand down again and groans low. "DADDY WILL ATTEND YOU, DO NOT FRET!" he exclaims, winking at her. His stupid hat tips and she catches glance of more of his bleached hair. Something stirs in her stomach uncomfortably.

It's the worst time for her to be reminded of Soul. Maka shoves the thought very far away, banishing warm red eyes from her thoughts as she throws her head back and tries screaming again.

This time, though, she takes it down about three notches. She watches as Hiro's panicked expression becomes proud, takes his hand as he offers it and bounces on the bed with him, trying hard to sound less childish with her giggles and more sexual. Maka's jumped on her bed hundreds of times during pillow fights and sleepovers, but never during anything this bizarre.

Thinking about childhood slumber parties while trying to sound like she enjoys being pounded by two penises is probably in bad taste. She fumbles for a moment, wondering when everything went wrong in her life to lead up to this moment.

"How long does this last?" she whispers to Hiro.

"Ehhhh, for us?" He wobbles his hand. "Half the time it should be for you."

" _What?_ "

As if to punctuate his point, Cal gives a low, low moan and stops his thumping. Hiro takes his cue and leaps off the bed, crooning like a dying bird as he lands on his feet. This is probably supposed to emulate the sound of an orgasm, but they don't sound sexy in the slightest to her. Unsure if she's supposed to scream or groan also, she stops jumping and wobbles, barely catching her balance. She can hear the whispering behind the door, a steady rumble of not-so-secretive teens sharing their noisy opinions as Hiro gives her a funny look.

She mouths "what" again. He twirls his hand in the air, expression morphing into overall exasperation. Maka decides "what" is a suitable response again, because _what?_

" _Your I-max!_ " she thinks he mouths back.

It makes zero sense. _She's not at the movies?_ Are there cameras hiding somewhere? Because she definitely didn't consent to becoming an actual cam girl and her dress is staying on her body, thanks. Maka fits her hands on her hips and squints at him suspiciously.

"CLI-MAX," he whispers, stressing the syllables.

_Oh!_

"Oh," she says dumbly. Maka fits herself with her best porno voice and pushes a hand through her hair. "A… Aaaah? Yeeeees?"

Cal pats her head, hand clapping with her fingers. He's straightened his stupid fedora on his head and doesn't look even a little bit brotherly as he says, "My dear, you're a virgin, aren't you?"

Maka scowls and shoves his hand away. Pompous ass. But he hops down and lets Hiro kiss his cheek, and yeah, maybe the whole thing was a little worth it for the dazzling, mega-watt smile on the blond's face. He looks at her, grin fading into something more sincere and actually thankful and Maka's heart warms in her chest. _You've done good, Albarn,_ she thinks, even as she straightens out her dress and watches Hiro try to turn the doorknob without making direct contact with the lacy thong.

"Come come, Hiro," Cal says, waving his hands as he speaks. "We have a grand march to do. At attention, now!"

Hiro marches out, high knees and all, and Maka really, really doesn't know what he sees in him.

* * *

It's funny how different Hiro and Excalibur's walk of shame is compared to hers.

And by funny, she means not at all. It's actually rather demeaning.

She does not feel like queen of the world as she makes her way down the crowded hallway. There are no high fives, no compliments, no fist bumps. She is not an adult, bursting with sexual prowess and maturity. She's not even feeling _proud,_ and everyone's gaze sliding up her backside feels slimy and uncomfortable, like they're eating her alive. While Hiro and Excalibur kiss messily and sneak off to presumably hook up for real in Kim Diehl's bathroom, Maka practically has the word "SLUT" tattooed on her forehead in bright red ink.

Maybe she really is her father's daughter. A harlot.

_A fake harlot,_ she reminds herself. She didn't _actually_ fuck two gay men at once.

But it's impossible to really hate herself for doing it. Hiro had looked so happy when his boyfriend had held his hand and lead him off. If her first lie had done nothing but hurt her rep, at least her second is helping someone.

The whispering steadily increases as she exits the house. She shuts the door behind her and it mostly mutes the sound of the pounding bass and dubstep. Without realizing she'd been doing it, she releases the breath she'd been holding and rubs her eyes. The rush of power she'd felt when she decided to say fuck it and really sold the show has mostly dissolved and now she's left with the residing dread and guilt. It hangs heavy in her throat, like a rock, and swallowing hurts.

There's a cough. Maka flinches.

"Fancy meeting you here," Soul Evans drawls.

Her heart stops. She turns slowly, dreadfully, to see Soul slouched on the porch railing, features shaded in the dark. His lips quirk in the murkiness of the porch light and he nudges his head at her.

"Why are you here?" she blurts, voice high and brittle. "I thought you didn't like parties."

He shrugs and rolls his neck. "I don't. Star dragged me out."

" _Oh_."

"Oh," he repeats, tilting back to stare at the sky. "Full moon tonight."

She walks to him stupidly, feet moving with a mind of their own. It's mostly quiet, sans the clicking of her heals, the dulled sound of the party and the crickets chirping, and Soul tears his gaze from the sky to watch her. He looks at her, _really looks at her_ , and Maka feels more self conscious in front of him than she has all night.

"... Soul?"

He snaps back to attention, cheeks burning. "New dress?"

"Is it too much?"

"It's just… different," Soul says slowly. " _Nice_. But it doesn't seem like something you'd wear."

The railing is cold beneath the palms of her hands. She shivers involuntarily. "Maybe I'm changing."

"Hm," he grunts, looking to the bushes instead. "Maybe. Aren't you cold?"

"It's not bad," she lies. She's actually freezing; she curses Hiro for convincing her to disregard a bra, because low temperatures and nipples never play nice, especially in a thin, tight dress. She leans, pressing her shoulders in and hoping to keep all attention off of her chest, because things are awkward enough and she doesn't need a wardrobe malfunction on top of everything else. "How long have you been out here?" she asks finally, determined to steer all conversation safely away from her choice of clothing and embarrassing chest.

Soul shrugs wordlessly.

Her throat feels tight. _What if?_ she wonders, dread curdling in the pit of her stomach. "Soul?"

"A bit," he says shortly. "I guess. Party's a little too stuffy for me."

When he doesn't meet her eye, Maka knows he heard it all.

Soul's a closed door most of the time. He's so good at maintaining careful indifference usually, steeling himself with bored stares and lazy eyes, snarls and the likes if all else fails. And for the most part, he's got everyone fooled. It must suit him just fine, because she knows he's wanted to be the cool guy forever, wanted to play the part of aloof bad boy, leather jacket and all. It's the skin he wants to wear. But it's not the truth.

He tightens his grasp on the railing. Soul's not a careless and bored guy at all. No, he cares so much - maybe even too much, enough to crush her at the way he worries and stresses for his friends. He's the _best_ kind of friend, and it melts her to her core.

Maka backs away and steadies her heart. "I'm going to get going."

"You sure?" he asks, though he still won't look at her. "I can give you a ride. It's dark. And cold."

"It's fine," she lies. The reality is she doesn't want him around when the weight of it all finally hits her full force and she pukes her guts out. Suffering isn't pretty like in the movies, not sad foreheads pressed against car windows as Kelly Clarkson croons in the background. No, it's much more ugly; snivels and snot and getting so anxious that she empties her stomach in Black Star's yard.

He forces a breath through his nose. "Maka."

"No, really," she says, shaking her head. "I've gotta get home before Papa gets back anyway. I'm not really supposed to be here. I'm under house arrest."

Soul rolls his eyes. "Dramatic."

"Yeah, well." Her heels clank as she stomps down the stairs. It takes everything in her not to break out into a run. "Papa doesn't know how to deal with his daughter following in his footsteps. But don't worry, I wasn't stupid enough to not use protection."

She knows he's staring at her as she leaves. They're more alike than he realizes, and part of her hopes that he'll read her like a book. Great minds think alike, after all. And if this whole fake reputation thing has benefitted Soul, who suffers from social anxiety, then maybe it won't blow up in her face as spectacularly as she's afraid it might.

A wolf whistle follows her as she walks down the street. It trails behind her and staples itself into the clicks of her heels, perfect punctuation to the leering call.

Or maybe it will.

 


	7. Chapter 6

Uncle Frank lowers his newspaper and plucks the cigarette from his lips. "Well, well, well."

Maka finally trips over her heels and ends up stumbling through the doorway, nearly taking her father's potted plant with her on the way down. She shrieks, flailing spectacularly, as she grasps at the door frame with one hand and slaps the other over her galloping heart.

"You scared me!" she gasps.

He chuckles and flicks the cigarette. "Does your mother know that you're out?"

Her brows furrow. She's halfway through unbuckling her heels and kicking them off when he grinds the cig into a nearby potted plant and sits up straight. "ABBA reference."

Maka blinks. "Aunt Marie?"

"Yes."

"I was going to say," Maka says, hobbling into the living room to lean on the couch, rubbing the arch of her foot. "I haven't talked to Mama in a few months. I don't see why she'd care if I was out or not-"

"It was a popular song. I think." He blinks sluggishly and watches her take a seat on the arm of the couch. "But that's not the point, I suppose. You were out _awfully_ late for someone who's grounded. Spirit sent me to make sure you were in bed and not up watching movies."

Maka bites her lip. " _Please_ don't tell Papa."

He picks up the newspaper again and flips the page. "Wasn't planning on it. There aren't enough ear plugs in the world to drown out the sound of your father's whining."

She's lucky, really. Uncle Frank (slash Professor Stein, Monday through Friday) has always been the _cool_ uncle, despite being a bit dry at times. It's unlikely that he'll actually go back on his word and rat her out, if just because he's well aware of her Papa's… _exuberance._ And volume. How the two of them had managed to be college roommates for years is beyond her. Why Mama had agreed to let him be the godfather of her baby is another small mystery.

Maka's picking the bobby pins out of her hair when she breathes out a thanks. He nods without looking up from his reading and Maka stretches, pressing her hands high into the sky and straightening out her back. She can't wait to get out of the dress and into something a little more comfortable - a ratty, oversized sleep shirt and fleece pants, an entirely unsexy number that has her name written all over it.

Stein takes a break from reading to sip his tea. "Long night?"

It's one way to put it. Maka forces a neural expression. "... Kind of. I'm really tired, sorry."

"It's fine. I should be getting home soon anyway. Pregnant women are rather hormonal, you know, and Marie's taken quite a liking to sweet pickles."

She blinks at him. "Aunt Marie is pregnant?"

"Ah," Stein mutters slowly, realizing his flub. " _Surprise_."

"When did that happen?" Maka asks, running her fingers through her loose hair idly. The conversation is welcome, because even if she's emotionally exhausted from her new life as an actress, the news is _exciting_. "Congratulations!"

He shoots her a crooked smile. "A couple months ago, while I was taking a break grading that pop quiz I gave you students…"

Even though she's spent the better part of her night jumping on a bed and faking a threesome, her face burns red as she waves her hands in front of her wildly in an attempt to cut him off. There's something very different about portraying a sexual character and actually listening to the details of how her aunt and uncle conceived - especially since she was the one who originally introduced the two of them. It's too much information. And a little weird. So when she blurts, " _I get it,"_ there's no part of her surprised to find her uncle sporting a crude little laugh while he smothers his grin.

He is her father's best friend, after all. He's got to be a _little_ strange; it's sort of in the handbook. Even with his odd tendencies and often dry jokes, he's still relatively normal in comparison to her lust-driven father, who switches between wanting to be a picturesque, doting father and ruining the delicate sanctity of a PTA meeting with a quickie almost hourly.

She dries up quickly and plants her hands in her lap. She could be getting away with murder and her papa wouldn't even know. Still, though, it's weirdly comforting to know that even while he's too busy with his vices (read: beautiful women) to do it himself, he still thought to call uncle Frank to check up on her.

He probably should've called aunt Marie, even if she would've called everyone in the neighborhood to form a search party when she discovered her darling niece wasn't tucked into bed with a good book and a cat on her lap. Then again, with Marie in the lead, Maka doubts they would've made it much of anywhere before Maka finally found her way home.

"That's a new dress," Stein comments, breaking her from her thoughts. It's an echo of her past, of an hour ago, the cool breeze on Kim Diehl's porch and Soul Evans' dark eyes.

Heat swarms her. She finds herself smoothing down the hemline, feeling childish, like a small girl playing dress up in her mother's glamorous clothes. The deep, plunging neckline suddenly feels like it's wider, like his inquisitive, calculating eyes can read her very soul. It's unnerving. "It's not mine," she says feebly.

He takes another sip of his coffee without looking away. "Would your father let you out of the house in that?"

"No."

"Alright. Hope you had a good time," he says, folding the newspaper in his lap.

She breathes out a sigh of relief and combs her fingers through her loose hair. Her scalp is sore from too-tight bobby pins and her hair crunchy from hairspray. Maybe a shower is next on her schedule, right before pajamas and bedtime.

A hand pats her shoulder lightly as he walks by and suddenly her throat feels full. Face hot, she spins around to watch him walk to the door and wrap a loose, orange knitted scarf haphazardly around his neck. He looks up just as she blurts, "If anyone asks, I was here all night," as if he has a sixth sense, and her fingers dig into the floaty material of her skirt. "Nothing happened. I stayed up too late studying and you had to caveman carry me to bed because I fell asleep at the kitchen table again."

He presses a finger against the nose of his glasses and pushes them upwards. "Isn't that what happened?"

The material of her dress is still cold from her brisk walk home. It grounds her. "Yes."

"Then why are we having this conversation?" he asks with a barely there smile. "Spirit's on his way home. Your cat hates me and locked herself in the bathroom."

The thought of her father doesn't sit well with her. His excuse for staying out late had been _work, sweetheart, don't worry about it,_ but Maka knows better. What business does a teacher have with staying out until midnight grading papers? She wasn't born yesterday and she's not stupid; her parents marriage hadn't ended because her father was a workaholic, that much is sure. And with the way Stein smiles wrily at her, she's not sure she wants to know how far he thinks the apple falls from the tree.

She's not even sure she knows anymore. Her stomach turns. Puking in Black Star's bushes is beginning to look more and more like a feasible end to her night.

Maybe she technically did just come back from a night of being promiscuous. Are there real life ramifications for being a fake slut? For helping a friend out to keep his high maintenance boyfriend happy? She should not feel so shitty for improving a relationship, especially if no debauchery actually happened.

She thinks of Soul and the way he looked at her. Mostly, though, she thinks of the way he _wouldn't_ look at her. The unease in her stomach becomes full-force churning and she swallows thickly.

"Nothing actually happened!" Maka calls after him. "The dress is just for show! I was at a party helping a friend."

He waves without glancing back at her and shuts the door behind him. Blair mews once she's sure the coast is clear and scurries out of her sanctuary, quick to rub against her leg in greeting. The uneasy, sickly feeling in her stomach settles as she lifts the cat and holds her to her chest, pressing a soft kiss to her fuzzy little forehead. Her chest warms, even as one of Blair's claws drags against the bare skin between her tiny breasts. She takes the paw into her hand and kisses it gently.

Blair headbutts her gently and squirms, making herself comfortable against her human's rather skinny physique.

"You'll still love me even if I'm a cheap tramp, right?" Maka asks, baby talking the tiny black bundle of fur. Blair purrs as Maka strokes down the silky, elegant line of her spine. "Who needs boys when I have a cat?"

"Mreow."

Her back arches as Maka repeats the motion. A paw slides under the strap of her dress. Maka barks out a self depreciating laugh and kisses Blair's nose. "You better take me out to dinner first, furball."

* * *

"I can't believe you went to the party without me! What the hell, Maka?"

Her damp braid slaps her shoulder as she crumbles into her pillows. _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ digs into her side like a karmic reminder of her sins and she chuffs, shoving it off her bed without second thought. The last thing she needs is her fake, annoying boyfriend, who _allegedly_ hadn't called after she let him fuck her into the mattress making an unwanted appearance and upping her guilt to an eleven.

Blair curls up against the curve of her waist in the book's place. She scratches at the base of her ears distractedly as Liz prattles on, scolding her for attending a house party without her best friend.

"Is it true that you slept with Hiro and his college boyfriend?" Liz gasps. Maka pets under Blair's chin instead. "What the hell, Maka?"

"Is that what people are saying?"

"They're saying a lot more than just _that_."

"Well," Maka says, staring at her ceiling, very determinedly not thinking about the consequences for this little white lie. "I guess it's true, if that's what everyone is saying."

"What does that even mean?"

There's something oddly poetic about having this conversation while she's in her bed. It's where all the "magic" happened, after all, where the first lie took place. And by _poetic_ , she means ironic. It leaves a sour taste in her mouth, one that even cuddling with her cat really can't vanquish. She weighs the pros and cons of just coming clean to Liz and telling her the truth - that there hadn't been any guy, that she'd stayed in watching movies and rereading her old favorite book series instead of being a good best friend and playing wingman, but the thought of breaking the news to her makes her feel even worse. She knows, of course, that the right thing to do is to tell the truth, that it'll cause her less harm if it comes out now rather than later, but with everything piling on top of that first lie, Maka can't find her nerve.

It's annoying. Maka's a lot of things, but she's not a coward. And she's not a liar.

But Hiro had been so desperate, her guilt had been so fierce, and who was she to say no?

She's locked in now, committed to a lie that's quickly beginning to spiral and snowball out of her control. There will be talk. There will be rumors. Even if she comes clean and tells everyone (or even just Liz, really), there are still risque pictures of her on the internet. The damage has been done.

There are really only a few choices left. Grovel for forgiveness, or bask in her new reputation and ride it out with her head held high on her shoulders. Either way, she's going to lose something - her pride for coming clean, and her squeaky-clean record for perpetuating the rumors.

Maka grits her teeth as she makes up her mind. Here goes _everything_.

"You said I should live a little," she says slowly.

Liz's voice is like a whip, quick and blunt. "I didn't think you'd take it so far! Maka, most people work their way up the totem pole before they get into threesomes with gay men. Christ, I haven't even gotten there yet."

"Don't bother," she tonelessly says, squinting up into the darkness. The moon is dull and her curtains cut peculiar shapes of light onto the ceiling.

"Look," Liz sighs, "I think it's great that you're exploring sexually. There's nothing wrong with sleeping around, if that's what you want to do, and I have no problem breaking the nose of anyone who starts saying shit about you, but you really need to be ready to take on all the responsibilities that come along with taking the entire boy's locker room for a joy ride."

Her temper flares up like a lit match. "Who said anything about the boy's locker room?!"

"Maka, you slept with Hiro! _Hiro_. I just assumed-"

She sits up, braids smacking the back of her shoulder with a wet _slap_. Blair flinches as she spits out, "You _assumed!_ ", and darts to her feet as Maka's fist clenches in the bed sheets. "Just because I slept with a few boys doesn't mean I'm going to make my rounds around the entire school, Liz!"

"Maka, you had a threesome. With _gay men_."

"Maybe they were bi!"

"Hiro's not," Liz says, clicking her tongue. Maka can almost see her admiring her nails, so nonchalant as she basks in her rightness. It's infuriating "Trust me."

Well, _that's_ a mental image she really didn't need, but still - her hands shake as she scowls, gasping, "So you're in no place to judge! You've done it too!"

"Yeah, when he was fifteen and questioning, Maka. Not now that he's out and proud," Liz says. Maka picks at the drawstring of her pants, ignoring Blair as she nuzzles against her sock-clad feet. "I just don't understand why it happened."

"It's none of your business who I sleep with," she huffs.

"I'm your friend. And I'm concerned."

"You were proud of me the other day! You thought it was a great idea for me to sleep around!"

"I thought it was great that you were _experimenting_ instead of stressing over homework and forcing yourself to be perfect. I didn't think you'd take it this far! Did you even come, Maka? Did they get you off? And what about protection? I _know_ you're not stupid enough to just let a guy nut in you without a rubber."

The whole conversation has her head spinning. Her hand leaves her lap to press against her forehead, dizzy with misplaced anger and guilt, swimming with lies and excuses and _why did she sleep with two gay men at once again?_ Hiro's pleading face flashes in her mind and she swallows back her fury. Damn her compassion. Damn Hiro and Ox, whose smarmy, obnoxious sneer makes her want to succeed all the more and unnerve him by being the talk of the town for more than just her sharp wit. Wherever he is, she hopes he's sweating bullets, because she sure is.

"Of course we used a condom," Maka says snippily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Can I go to sleep now?"

"What, sore?"

" _Yes_ ," she breathes, eager for an escape.

Liz's tone goes practical. "So that's a big fat no on the lube question, huh?"

" _Liz!_ "

"Anal sex isn't _comfortable,_ Maka. Sorry you had to learn the hard way."

Well, shoot. Is that something gay men are aware of? Probably. Crap, she's definitely firing blatant holes into her own facade. While she's scrambling to make sense of her blunder, Liz takes to continuing her assault, going as far as to scold her, again, for attending without her, and something within Maka finally snaps. Maybe it's the stress of the night finally doing her in. Maybe it's the uneasy churning in the pit of her stomach from lying to her best friend. Or maybe, just maybe, it's the cracked pieces of her heart that're still trying to realign themselves after realizing she'd put on a show with Soul around, but enough is enough.

"You sleep with people all the time," Maka hisses. "I don't see why it's a big deal if I do the same. I'm not going to get myself knocked up. I'm not _stupid_ like my Papa."

"I never said-!"

Blair rises from her feet, staring curiously as Maka singlehandedly tears a friendship apart. "You didn't have to! Everyone's saying it, right? I'm an Albarn, aren't I? It's only a matter of time before I get pregnant. I'm seventeen already, it must be time!"

" _Maka_."

But she can't stop. Not now that everything is finally coming out. It's a little unfair that this emotional dump is being unloaded on Liz, who really isn't at fault here - it's Maka, but it's easier to be angry than sad, and she's always been better at kicking and screaming and fighting than backing down from a challenge. She's brave and she's proud, her mother's daughter, and sick and tired of being talked down to like she's a child, like she's clueless about what her choices really mean. Because she _knows._

"I'm not stupid. I can make my own choices, Liz. I can go to parties if I want. I can sleep with whoever I want. I don't have to ask your permission to get into bed with someone or even leave the house, okay?!"

It's quiet for a long moment. All she can hear is the rapid thundering of her heart, the chain on her ceiling fan shifting, Liz's breathing. Blair's eyes glow yellow in the dark of the night, murky shadows casting over her dark frame as she cautiously pads her way up Maka's legs, over her knobby knees.

"... I was just _concerned_ ," Liz says finally.

Maka's jaw sets. "I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, well," she pauses, grumbling under her breath. " _Clearly_."

Blair settles on her lap, greedy for head rubs and attention. Maka focuses on the feeling of a fuzzy ear beneath her fingers instead of the angry, hurt tone of her best friend's voice.

But there's no backing down, not now with her phone pressed tight against her ear and that dress hanging in her closet. She is not a slut. _She is not a slut._ She's just Maka, _still_ Maka no matter what she does and _who_ she does it with. She's not innocent and she's not a prude, not a delicate flower in need of careful watering and maintenance.

Rigidly, she carries on. "I don't need protecting."

Liz scoffs. "Then good luck falling asleep with your head up your ass."

There's a dial tone ringing in her right ear before she even has the chance to fight back. In typical Liz fashion, she left in order to have the last word. It's both cowardly and infuriating, and Maka can't stifle the way her blood burns vibrant red.

In typical Maka fashion, she fires off a strongly worded text with perfect punctuation and grammar mere moments after the conversation is over. And, like always, Liz ignores the message. Hands shaking, Maka throws her phone aside and grapples for a distraction - something, anything, to keep her from becoming that girl and double texting. Her hands find _The Scarlet Letter_ and she cracks the book open on her lap at once, balancing the spine delicately on Blair's back, long black tail peeking out from the edge as it curls and stretches languidly.

Reading is habitual. Stress relieving. And there's something really, _really_ inspiring about literature.


	8. Chapter 7

If it's a slut they want, it's a slut they're going to get. She'll be the sluttiest fake harlot to ever walk these damn halls. Maka Albarn is a woman scorned and nothing will stand in her way.

Because waking up to a text from one Ox Ford calling her a _stupid floozy who is destined to be salutatorian and nothing more_ really tends to inspire a girl. Pigtails tied tight with red ribbons, Maka flips the proverbial bird at snide, smug know-it-alls and overbearing best friends.

With a red "A" crudely stitched on the front of an old, size-too-small tank top, Maka struts her way to her locker. Boys who have never before given her the time of day stare blatantly at the sway of her hips ( _skinny guy hips that have been the butt end of jokes for years,_ she thinks scathingly) and she's glad this old plaid skirt still fits. Hiro was certainly on to something - pleated, short skirts do things to people. And they do things for her scrawny, pale as hell legs too, apparently.

It takes a deep breath and a clench of the jaw to work up the nerve to plant herself beside Soul without a word. His locker placement has never been quite so unfortunate - right next to hers, of course - but she's never had to replace her books while making a statement sans bra before. Part of her wonders if this is going to become a trend, if waltzing around Soul with her nipples willy-nilly will become a normal thing in her life.

Cue tummy fuzzies. Lock it _down,_ Albarn. It's not like that, it's never been like that, and after everything, she knows he _still_ doesn't want to kiss her.

He fiddles with his lock. "Hey."

She can't go soft. Maka steels herself, flips a pigtail over her shoulder and pops the heart-shaped lollipop out of her mouth. "Hey," she echoes, leaning a hip against the cool metal of the lockers. "Enjoy the show?"

Soul coughs. "Is that what this is?"

"What," she purrs, licking her lips slowly. "Forget your glasses at home?"

Pink washes over him almost instantaneously. "Can it."

Maka pops the lollipop back in her mouth and twists the stick. She raises a brow. His expression tightens and he splutters for a moment, burying himself in his locker in a flurry of white hair and rosy cheeks. The reaction is explosive, in Soul terms, and Maka can't fight away a smile.

"Is that even dress code?" he blurts.

Busying herself with switching out her books, she shrugs and says, "Mostly," as if it's a casual thing for her to be sporting a little more bounce with every ounce. "I doubt Professor Stein is going to report me."

"Uh, why?"

"Because then my Papa will know," she says nonchalantly. "And then the school will never hear the end of it."

He peeks around her locker door. "That's abuse of power, bookworm."

"It's fine," she says, and then her smile is wicked, curling viciously. "It's not like my body is arousing anyway, right? Nobody's going to get distracted by my boney shoulders and flat chest. You said so yourself, right?"

Soul bangs his head and swears out loud. "Maka - that was _years ago,_ let it go."

She flutters her lashes and twirls her sucker again. "I think there are more interesting things in the classroom than my legs," she announces, and Soul swears again, rubbing his head and staring very pointedly into the depths of his locker. "Besides, I wear skirts all the time. What's a shorter hemline?"

"Easier access?" Black Star cackles.

Maka flinches and turns to face her childhood friend. How in the world had he snuck up on her? It's not like he's quiet - he's a mouth breather on top of taking heavy steps and wearing too-big shoes. Usually you hear Black Star before you see Black Star, but apparently today is the exception. Perhaps she's off her a-game. Or distracted.

Soul's locker shuts. Yes, _distracted_ indeed. She kind of hates how Soul's always on the brain.

More than that, though, she hates how she lets it happen every time. There is a world outside of his boyish grins and rough voice. Her loudmouthed neighbor is proof of that, and if she can't hear him coming because she's too busy making Soul blush, she knows she's got a serious attention problem that needs to be solved, because _damn._

Black Star grins widely, gaze dropping, and she barely fights off the urge to cross her arm over her chest and clear her throat. He's certainly not staring at the red A stitched on her shirt. " _Sup,_ camgirl?"

"Do you really have to call me that?"

"It's not a lie, so," he says, shrugging, then finally meets her eye. "What's with the get up? Pretty Little Liars marathon last night?"

She scoffs. "What? No!" Maka gestures to the letter on her boob wildly. "The Scarlet Letter!"

Black Star stares at her tits blankly. Soul fidgets beside him before peeking too.

Maka forces herself not to scowl. "The book?"

"Reading is for chumps and nerds," Black Star spouts eagerly. "And I'm no chump! Why waste my time with a lame thing like that?"

"I think I watched the movie with Wes once," Soul mumbles, staring at her neck.

Which means he fell asleep. She laughs out loud at her own stupidity; of course her reference would go over their heads. Black Star doesn't read anything without pictures (usually _nude_ pictures - she's pretty sure the only thing he's ever read cover-to-cover are the vintage porn mags he "borrowed" from Soul back in middle school) and Soul's attention span is zero to none. The symbolism and statement is effectively lost on the two of them.

"Sparknotes it," she hisses, slamming her locker shut. Soul cringes and covers his ears. "Now if you'll excuse me boys, I have a best friend to avoid."

"Liz?" Soul asks blearily. "Why?"

Just thinking about it makes her angry. And a little guilty, because _okay,_ maybe Liz had her best interests at heart and _sure,_ sleeping with both Hiro and his obnoxious college boyfriend was a little over the top, but Maka wouldn't of blinked an eye had it been the other way around. She sure as heck wouldn't of lectured her.

That's what she tells herself, anyway, to keep the uncomfortable tightness from enclosing her throat again.

She flips a pigtail over her shoulder _again_ and slaps Black Star in the face with it. "We aren't seeing eye to eye on some things."

Black Star spits out blonde hair. "Is it cuz you can't see over her tits?"

Soul has the pleasure of clobbering him over the head before she has a chance. He frowns, expression set deep in his features and cracks his neck. "Think I saw her with Tsubaki in the drama wing, so if you wanna steer clear of her…"

She tells herself patting his cheek is for the charade, but it's definitely a lie; she's selfish, so selfish, and his skin is soft, face warm beneath her palm. Soul, who is so private and otherwise out of bounds actually _lets_ her touch him, skin-to-skin contact however brief, and Maka counts it as her victory of the day. "Thanks," she sighs, with a little extra bounce in her step as she brushes past him. Her stomach tingles and flutters, like she's fourteen again and just learning what a crush might mean, and Soul grunts in response. "See you around, big boy."

And with her head held high, she sets off on her next mission. Operation: Destroy Ox Ford is officially underway.

" _Dude,_ " she hears Black Star urge, "get _in there._ She wants it."

Soul splutters something incomprehensible and Maka's on cloud nine. Even if it's a lie, even if it's just an act, apparently she's Soul's type. And nobody can take that fleeting, triumphant moment away from her, no matter how bittersweet it may be. Not even her academic rival, who cuts her off before she has a chance to saunter into AP Biology, a haughty sneer on his face.

It does dampen the mood a little, though. Maka sneers right back and folds her arms. "Move out of the way, Ox."

"What're you going to do about it? Fuck me?" Ox scoffs. "While you were off partying and studying the male anatomy, I was starting my valedictorian speech. I think I'll start it off with a nice quote before getting into why I'm so honored to be the one giving the final goodbye. Oh, and of course I'll mention you. How could I forget the runner up?"

It's meant to rile her up - she knows that - but she still bites, still lets it get to her. Maka clenches her fists and shifts her weight, quietly contemplating the pros and cons of breaking his glasses. Perhaps his nose, too; Ox is lanky and bookish, but he's not quite as athletically gifted as she is. If push came to shove, there's no doubt in her mind that she could snap his grubby little spine in half. Even without the push, actually.

Her nose flares. "Big talk considering finals aren't for another month!"

"Yes, _well,_ " he drones, still smiling that same infuriating grin. He's a mosquito. Not even; he's less than a bug in her books. "I find it hard to believe you'll be able to keep up with your course load while simultaneously jerking two meatheads underneath the bleachers. You only have two hands, Maka."

"Excuse me?!"

He pushes his glasses higher on his nose. "I'm just saying, if a third suitor comes over, even your mouth will be occupied. And then what? You've got a sharp tongue and that impresses the teachers, but with your newfound hobby I doubt you'll have much of a chance to say anything. Once an Albarn always an Albarn, right?"

She has to remind herself that he's jealous and that's why he's spewing so much shit at her. Ox's strategy has always been to get beneath his opponent's skin and utilize their weaknesses. Still, she can't help but stoop to his level, because Maka is nothing if not proud and he's working diligently to poke holes in her armor. She has to remind herself to not take the bait and throwdown right then and there.

Instead, she smiles as pleasantly as she can and says, "At least I can get laid," and watches as he burns a bright pink. "How's Kim doing, Ox? And her girlfriend?"

"Why you-!"

"Let her in, Ox," Harvar sighs from behind him. "You're holding up traffic with your yammering."

His lip wobbles. Maka might feel bad for reopening such recent wounds if he weren't such a dickwad. Her pleasant facade doesn't fade even for a second, not even when she bumps him with her hip to shimmy through the door and take her seat, front and center.

If it's attention Ox wants, she'll fight him tooth and nail for it. And she'll win.

* * *

"Maka. A word, please."

A chorus of " _ooooooooh"_ washes through the classroom. Maka wonders when AP Biology became 8th grade homeroom. She doesn't bother rolling her eyes, but she does send Ox a particularly nasty look as he enters the hall. He deserves more than just a challenging glare, but throwing a punch in her pseudo-uncle's classroom is probably not the best way to start explaining why she's dressed the way she is.

He swivels in his chair and drums his fingers on his desk. Maka approaches him dutifully, tucking her hands behind her back. "Yeah, sure. What did you need, sir?"

"Sir," he says dryly. "I don't think I'll ever get used to the formalities, Maka."

"Would you prefer Mr. Stein?"

He wrinkles his nose. "Dreadful. Take a seat."

After she drags over a chair and drops down to sit, she remembers to cross her legs daintily and sets her hands on her lap. The skirt is good for rousing the beasts lurking within the hearts of the general teenage population, but she thinks using its powers for evil on her married godfather slash uncle would probably be in bad taste, as well as a little illegal. And a lot gross. She prefers not to flash him a glance at her boring, cotton panties.

Not that it's anything he hasn't seen before. The man's changed her diapers. Uncle Frank's seen it all at one point, but definitely all pre-puberty. It would be a lot more weird now that she's kinda-sorta got boobs in the right lighting and with the right bra.

He stares at her over the lenses of his glasses. Points a pen at her and aims it at her right tit. "What's this?"

She glances down at herself. "Um, a letter?"

"Groundbreaking," he says. "I meant the needlework. Have I taught you nothing about stitching?"

Maka blinks up at him. "Huh?"

"Your sewing is _sloppy._ If you're going to patch something onto one of your shirts, at least do it right. How did your father ever let you out of the house with that lazy handiwork?"

He's grinning. Maka smiles back and laughs faintly, picking at the loose threads and jagged edges. "I tried my best?" she says, but she can't stop the giggles and shakes her head at her own misfortune. After everything that's happened in the last few days, a good laugh is exactly what the doctor ordered. "I mean, at least it sticks. And it's red. People get the idea, right?"

There's knocking, and both of them turn to watch Marie poke her head in. "Ding dong!" she chimes perkily. "Oh, Maka! Hi, sweetheart. What a surprise! I thought you'd be on your way to lunch by now."

"Hi," she says, still smiling. Her aunt kisses the top of her head affectionately and takes a seat on the corner of Stein's desk. "How're things?"

"Good!" Marie gives her a once over. "Cute skirt. Oh, I love Pretty Little Liars!"

"I-No! It's referencing _The Scarlet Letter!_ "

"I haven't seen that…"

Stein snorts and tilts his head just enough to accept Marie's cheek smooch. Maka's face burns irritably and he scoots his chair forward. "Nobody likes a hipster, Maka."

She pouts, cheeks puffed and all. Marie laughs fondly and reaches forth to pat her lap affectionately, quietly sending her an apology over the missed message of Maka's new look. So far, all the A has done is earn her an awkward talk about sewing with Uncle Frank and give Black Star a reason to stare at her chest. All in all, a failed attempt at a statement. It's probably time to count her losses and just go back to argyle sweaters and combat boots.

She decides to suck on a lollipop instead. Stein chatters about cavities and Marie flicks him and tells him not to be such a spoil sport. Red Dye #40 suits her better than any expensive lipstick does anyway.

The whole thing is just more trouble than it's worth. Sure, Ox might get the reference, but sneaking out of the house this morning without rousing her Papa's suspicions had been an adventure and a half. Who knows what sneaking back in will be like, never mind making it down the hall and into the cafeteria without running into him. He teaches English, for goodness sake - he's bound to be lurking the halls somewhere for pretty substitutes to flirt with, and Maka doubts he'll be even half as understanding about her hemline as her aunt and uncle are.

She can practically hear his howls and sobs already. _My baby angel, flashing her goodies for disgusting high school boys._ Pathetic. Like he has any ownership or right to tell her what she can and can't wear. Seventeen isn't twelve. Papa doesn't tie her hair in ribbons anymore. She can do all of that herself and then some. She can even buy a thong if she so chooses.

Not that she has. She doesn't particularly like feeling like she constantly has to pick a wedgie.

Sexy clothes definitely aren't her thing. Still, though, it was worth it for a day, if just to see Soul blush. And sure, it kind of makes her legs look long and her collarbone is probably one of the prettier parts of her body, but still; is it worth the catcalls and confusion?

Marie claps her hands together and shakes her from her thoughts. "You should come have dinner at our place tonight! I'm making baked ziti, your favorite!"

Her stomach rumbles just thinking about it. "I'd love to, if that's okay?"

"Absolutely!" Marie affirms, nodding her head and hopping off of the desk. "But you need to get your butt to the lunchroom, missy, before all of the chicken burgers are gone! I wouldn't wish the mystery meet upon even my worst enemy."

"It's just a blend of whatever the cafeteria has left over," Stein says lazily. "I find there's an overabundance of bologna."

"The chicken burgers are still far superior!"

The blonde tugs her out of her chair and smiles serenely. Since Mama left, Aunt Marie has been the closest thing she's had to a mother figure in her life. Sure, there have been times where Uncle Frank was more of a mother than her than anything else - _how many nights_ had she strong armed the poor guy into playing dolls with her? - but Marie has more of a mothering touch than anyone else.

Which reminds her. Maka glances down at her aunt's abdomen. It's still too soon to tell, but just knowing that soon there'll be a baby on her hip makes her beam. She glances back up at her and says, "Congrats, by the way!"

"I…" Her eye sparks with recognition. "Oh, _thank you,_ but - Frank, that was a secret! I thought we agreed we'd tell everyone together!"

Their bickering is the perfect opportunity to slip out without further interrogation. She mutters a polite goodbye, grabs her books and scoots her way out of the classroom. The only thing stopping her from beelining to the cafeteria and doing just what Marie suggested is the hunched forms of Liz Thompson and Soul Evans.

The door slams behind her. Both of them jump.

They both stare at her with worried, guilty eyes and Maka's blood burns. Whatever they were doing, they were awfully close together, and - _no,_ she can't get upset over this. Soul isn't hers to claim and even if Liz knows what she feels for him goes far beyond simple companionship, it's not foul play. They both think she's sleeping with the whole school and who is she to suspect they're up to foul play? How can there be foul play if _she's not dating him?_ She's never had a claim over Soul. He's not _hers._

Something passes between the two of them. Liz quirks a brow. Maka frowns. Soul shuffles, clearly uncomfortable, and leans his head so far back it hits the cork board behind him. She decides quickly that it doesn't matter what's going on or what they were talking about; it's none of her business. The sinking feeling in her stomach isn't real.

They can talk if they want. Soul's under no obligation to avoid Liz just because he knows they are fighting.

Still, though; they had been hunched _so close together._ Like they were whispering, maybe about _her_ , or what she'd done only a few nights before. About who she'd done it with, even, and how it was very much not Soul, and how Liz was sure she could do it better with him.

It's ridiculous. She _trusts_ Liz. She's told Liz everything about her parent's divorce and why Papa stays out so late at night. Liz might be fierce, but she's not manipulative or vindictive to her friends, and she would never play the same mind games that Ox does. She would never purposefully go after Soul just to get a little bit of payback. The fight hadn't been _that_ bad. A spat between friends isn't anything worth chasing after boys for. And Liz Thompson never chases men.

But Soul is cute and considerate. And special in a lot of ways that make Maka's chest hurt and head spin. She hates the idea of her best friend feeling the same way. _What_ _if?_

"... Hey," Soul attempts. He stares very pointedly at her feet.

Her mouth feels dry.

"Nice get up," Liz says slowly. "We were just talking about you-"

Both Liz and Soul call after her as Maka spins on her feet and takes off down the hall. She doesn't realize she's running until she's out of breath and panting at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She flicks the faucet and splashes water on her face until the lunch bell is ringing.

_Talking about me doesn't mean anything,_ Maka reminds herself. The last time they spoke, Liz had been worried about her. Maybe she was expressing those worries.

She's the spitting image of her mother. Maka turns off the faucet and thinks about anything else but that fact.


	9. Chapter 8

Even Aunt Marie's special baked ziti doesn't make her feel better.

It's kind of how she knows she's in way over her head. The baked ziti has magical curative powers, locked away somewhere in the secret recipe (Maka thinks it's the cheese, personally, but she won't pry) that's been passed down from Marie's grandmother. It was what helped nurse Maka through the aftermath of her parent's divorce, through rather intense weeks of finals, through the summer she broke her arm from jumping out of a tree house and into Black Star's pool.

Which makes dinner a lot more awkward than it probably should be. It's difficult to maintain a pleasant appearance while she's so busy stressing over school, and _not_ because of academics this time. Well, mostly not academics; there's still a part of her - a considerably smaller part than usual, admittedly - that frets over her GPA and whether or not it'll be enough to top Ox's, but the worries are overrun by the thought of Soul and Liz, eloping in Vegas and having three bouncing baby girls.

… Despite the both of them being barely eighteen. Maybe it's a stretch; still, the point stands - her imagination is running rampant and she can't swallow down the age-old insecurity that she'll never be enough to impress anyone. She thinks of Mama, traveling the world, freshly single and occasionally writing postcards to her daughter. She thinks of Papa, staying out late every night and burying himself in his vice of choice, women, blissfully blind to all of his darling daughter's redflags.

Aunt Marie giggles at something her husband says. Maka looks up from her plate, feeling more sick to her stomach than anything else. She picks at her skirt. It's a different one from the day, longer, and brushes over her knees every time she shifts in her seat.

"Did you want some more water, Maka?" she asks. Maka blinks at her, startled. "Or maybe some iced tea? There's a pitcher in the fridge, feel free to help yourself."

"Lord knows your father always does," Stein adds in helpfully, crooked smile in place.

She pushes her pasta around her fork and wonders when she'll believably be able to excuse herself from the table without rousing too much suspicion. "No, I'm fine," she mumbles. "Thanks anyway."

Her aunt and uncle exchange a look. Cautiously, Marie presses forward. "Is there something you want to talk about? Did something happen at school?"

"I can write up Ford, if you'd like," Stein offers.

"No," she says again, shaking her head and shuffling in her seat. This really isn't the time or place to be getting into the tough stuff, but Maka's not sure there'll ever be a _right_ time to talk about it and she needs to talk about this someone. Her stomach curls the longer she waits. "It's just... you guys know I would never do anything to purposefully hurt someone, right?"

"Of course!" Marie chirps immediately.

Maka sluggishly wedges her fork through an otherwise innocent and unsuspecting piece of ziti. It doesn't squash the building anxiety in the slightest. "And I would never act like Papa?"

Stein snorts. "I don't know, you've got his temper for sure-"

" _Frank!_ "

" _But,_ " he amends, yielding beneath his wife's searing glare, "if you're talking about his infidelity and overall inability to keep it in his pants, _yes,_ we're aware. You're your mother's daughter too, Maka. Only with slightly better penmanship and social skills."

She's not sure if it's a compliment or not. It doesn't particularly make her feel much better, but it does do a bang-up job of putting a smile, however weak, on her face.

"Thanks," she says softly. "For trusting me, I mean. There's just… a lot of rumors going on right now and I haven't done a great job putting my best foot forward."

"Boy drama?"

Maka eyes her aunt wearily. "... Kind of," she answers hesitantly, because it's not entirely a lie - her brand new reputation _does_ stem from _boy drama,_ so to speak, but the first boy hadn't even been real. It's not like she can come out and say she's coded as the new school slut because she let Harry Potter fuck her into the mattress twice, even if she adds in that he was definitely wearing a condom in theory. It's bizarre to even think about. It's even less likely for them to believe that she had an elaborate, staged threesome with a gay man and his college-aged, fedora-clad boyfriend.

It's been a wild week. Maka downs the rest of her water and purses her lips.

"Ford?" Stein guesses again.

"Ugh, Ox can suck on an egg for all I care," she spits. "He's the least of my worries. I just hope his pompous ass gets what's coming to him."

When they don't push any further, Maka sits taller, fully ready to scoot her chair out from the table and excuse herself to the guest room for a good night's rest. The plan backfires spectacularly when she hears a bawling, hoarse chime of, " _MAKAAA,"_ and stays rooted in her seat, eyes wide in disbelief as her father practically kicks the front door down and knocks one of Marie's potted plants on the floor.

As if her day couldn't get any worse. She shifts rigidly. Papa's lip wobbles before he bites back another Earth-shaking sob and stamps his way over to the table, barely dodging Marie's spray of iced tea.

 _Crap,_ she thinks. He _knows._

"Maka," her father says, leaning over to take her hands into his and squeeze tightly. "Angel sweetness, _who was it?_ "

" _Papa,_ " she hisses. His antics are the last thing she needs right now. She doesn't want to be smothered, doesn't want her hands held and cheeks pinched as he promises to make all of her problems disappear. He can't fix things for her.

Marie scowls at him for breaking her new pot. He ignores her in favor of making Maka feel worse, however accidental it might be.

"Just tell your Papa who it was so I can disembowel the little creeps," he pleads, disturbing promise in his eye. Spirit Albarn has always been overprotective of his daughter, but when it comes to potential suitors putting their hands all over her, it's a whole nother level. He squeezes her hands tighter. "I'll make sure they get expelled so fast they don't know what hit them! And then I'll report them to the police, the little _cretins_ -"

"What, pray tell, have they done to deserve all that?" Stein asks, moving to stand. His height is overpowering, at least, and would have more of an effect if Papa wasn't so dead set on getting answers and _now_.

Spirit's actually shaking as he answers, spluttering, "Not only did they _defile_ my baby girl despite being twenty one, they posted _naked pictures of her online._ She's only seventeen, I don't know how they got their hands on them, but-"

" _I_ did it!"

She barely recognizes her own voice. Trembling, she yanks her hands out of her father's grasp and kicks her chair back, stumbling backwards with a tunneling anger leading the way. Papa stares at her in disbelief, blue eyes wide and brows furrowing as he mouths, " _What?"_

Aunt Marie and Uncle Frank are in similar states of skepticism. Marie, especially, looks confused, hands cupped over her mouth as she shakes her head slowly. Probably, Maka thinks, because not even fifteen minutes ago, she was singing a very different song of her promiscuity. "Oh, _Maka_ -"

But because she's a woman on a mission, she doesn't back down for a moment. It's all too much at once - the brew of pity and concern in their gazes, poking holes in her barely maintained demeanor, the baked ziti, the itchy skirt that doesn't make her feel any more modest at all. She might not have slept with those boys, but what's the difference if everyone thinks she has? If everyone's going to assume things about her anyway? She thinks she might as well go down guns blazing, if that's what it's come down to.

The whole thing makes her sick to her stomach. Maka steps back and steels her voice, fists clenching at her side. " _I_ took the pictures," she hisses. "Not anyone else. And _I_ sent them."

"But _why-_ "

"Guess I'm just a chip off the old block!" she shouts, unable to contain her fury, laughing even though nothing's funny. Everything's terrible, actually, and Maka's hands quake against the swishing fabric of her skirt. Cruelly, she likes the way her father's face crumbles, the way the worry and concern shatter like glass into something else - disappointment, she thinks, and rightfully so. As twisted as it is, it feels good to take responsibility for her own actions. This much, at least, is the truth.

She took her own nudes. _She_ started this whole thing, not anyone else, and the fault is nobody's but her own. Straight A earning, pleated-skirt wearing Maka bore her naked chest to validate a lie to her best friend. So what?! She's the same _Maka_ she's always been, same infamous nerdbrain with a penchant for sweater vests and dubstep.

She's sick of being villainized for her body and what she's supposedly doing with it.

Undeterred, Maka presses on. "And you know what, else?" she says viciously, because it feels good to be heard for once. "I'm not a little girl anymore! It was _my_ choice to take those pictures, _my_ choice to take off my shirt for that camera, and _you_ can't take that away from me. _Nobody_ can."

"Maka," he says weakly, "sweetheart, you're _seventeen,_ that's child pornography-"

"Are you going to report _me_ to the police?"

He balks at the challenge in her eyes. "N- _No,_ but- that doesn't change the fact that an adult touched you. That's illegal on his part. That's statutory rape- and what's this about a threesome at a party I heard?!"

" _Well,_ " she says, spurred, "maybe if you'd been _home_ that night and not out with some woman, you would've actually known _I left the house._ " And okay, maybe she's not implying the whole truth, and okay, she hadn't actually slept with Hiro and Cal, but it's the very thought of it that shakes her to her core. The _nerve_. "But that's never meant a thing to you before, right? It never stopped you from chasing Mama away!"

If it's too far, she doesn't care. The fight is long overdue ,and there's fury in her bones; shards of misplaced negligence and years of sitting up late with her hands over her ears while her parents duked it out have finally boiled over and she can't stop the overflow. She spews poison with trembling hands and watery eyes and _great,_ she thinks, she's finally past the point of no return.

Marie and Frank, for their part, stay mostly out of it, stone-faced and silent, heads bowed at the table so as to not to stare. It doesn't matter. She knows they're peeking.

 _Eat your heart out_. This is who she is, apparently. Proud to a fault and stubborn as a mule. Her father's daughter and her mother's mistakes.

No, not quite; she's a mistake of her own accord. A _self-made_ accident. It feels a little better on the tongue.

Papa looks tired, older than he has in years. He pushes a hand through his long red hair and she's never noticed the way his eyes bag when he's stressed. It's been a long time since he's looked like this, not since the divorce, not since _it's just you and I now, Angel._

"... I just don't understand why the sudden change," he admits, quietly, more vulnerable than her bawling, sniveling Papa should ever sound.

Maka clenches the doorknob and rips the door open. "Haven't you heard?" she finds herself asking, even as Aunt Marie's finally rising from her seat, one hand over her heart and the other outstretched. "I'm the new school slut."

* * *

She has to find Liz.

If there's anyone who will understand, it's her best friend. And not just because she's her closest friend - but because if there's anyone who's dealt with awol parents and knows about the spiraling, uncomfortable anger that comes with it, it's Liz Thompson. The girl hasn't had it easy, juggling between working part time jobs and skipping class through the better half of her teen years in order to support her sister because her mother left them behind in an empty apartment. Maka's issues are slightly different, but at the core, the negligence damages all the same.

It's what drew them together in the first place. Sure, Liz is fantastic, on top of being witty and talented with liquid eyeliner, but she's also fiercely loyal to those she considers her own, and to have someone watch her back like that was something Maka needed when her parents split. And even though Liz hates accepting handouts, Maka has never hesitated to invite the two Thompsons over for dinner three times a week and offer to tutor them through Algebra I.

And after such an explosive blowout, Maka needs her best friend more than ever. She just hopes she won't slam the door in her face.

She also hopes Soul doesn't open the door without a shirt on and prove her suspicions. Maka buries it down, deep down - she trusts Liz and knows she would never do anything to purposefully hurt her.

Damn it all if she didn't have a prime chance, though.

But Liz isn't home. Neither her best friend nor Soul opens the door to greet her. Big blue eyes brighten at the sight of her and Patty gasps happy, rattling off, "Hi, Maka! I didn't expect to see you here!"

It's impossible to be angry in the face of Patricia Thompson. Maka thaws, just a little, and offers what little bit of a smile she can muster. "Where's your sister?"

"She stayed after school to retake a test!" Patty chimes helpfully. "And then I think she was going to spend some time with Kilik after practice."

So she heads to school instead.

* * *

Because the universe hates her, she's intercepted before she even gets out of the parking lot, and who else but Ox Ford ends up squinting at her, glasses pushed high on the bridge of his nose and text book tucked faithfully in the crook of his arm. Incredibly, she wants to see him even less than she wants to see her no-good Papa at the moment, and that's an accomplishment in itself. Somehow, on the tier of Maka's Shit List, Ox has managed to worm his way to number one.

It really shouldn't come as a surprise. He excels at everything he does - irritating her included - as well as being a general menace and know-it-all brat. Even more-so than she is, and that's saying something.

"Fancy meeting you here," he sneers.

"Not now, Ox."

"Have somewhere to be?" he asks, tone nosy, and Maka feels her fists clench at her sides. It would be easy, _so easy,_ to wring his stupid neck, because he's _insinuating_ things, and as far as he knows, they're totally valid accusations. "Nice skirt."

"I mean it, Ox. I need to find Liz-"

"Oh, of course. Birds of a feather stick together."

"Excuse me?!"

He fiddles with his glasses, expression dark. "She's made her way around the football team, that's all. I always thought it was strange that a girl like you hung out with someone like her, but I guess it all makes sense now."

To listen to him rail on her is one thing - she's dealt with his ego and snide remarks over her grades for years, and really, though she's hotheaded to a fault, she's accustomed to Ox's special brand of obnoxious - but Liz is another story. Despite everything she's thought of her best friend the past few days, her loyalty runs deep, and sitting by while he runs his mouth and insults Liz just isn't going to fly. Blood pounding in her ears, Maka thinks of nothing but putting him in his place, and in three long strides, she's nose to nose with him, gripping the collar of his button-up shirt and yanking him roughly.

He squawks and she gives him a good shake. "Say it again, I dare you-"

"Choking, loosen up-!"

"You don't even know Liz! Big talk for someone who can't even land a date with _one girl_."

Ox is rude but certainly not spineless. It's part of what makes him such an efficient rival, she supposes - he's good at what he does and not afraid to stick his neck out to prove her wrong. And through and through, he's _also l_ oyal to those he considers his, even if Kim has never really consented to being put on such a pedestal.

He sneers, nostrils flaring. "Kim is an _angel,_ and would never do anything like you two-"

He's so blissfully ignorant of Kim's true colors. She almost feels bad for him. _Almost_ being the keyword; there's only so much sympathy that can be given to a man who continually attempts to shame a girl for what she decides to do with her own body, and feeling pity because the girl he likes won't look his way is certainly pushing it.

"Do you think Kim's never taken nudes to send to her girlfriend before?" Maka barks out. "Because I'm positive she has, I've _seen_ them-"

"At least she's smart enough not to let them fall into _Black Star's_ hands!" he shouts back, slapping her hands away from his shirt. Maka balks and gets right up in his face again, brows taught and heart her chest.

"They weren't. Meant. For Black Star," she hisses.

Ox smiles infuriatingly. "Weren't meant for Twitter either, were they? Funny how things happen that way."

She's three seconds away from punching him right in the kisser when she's yanked back by her elbow. Maka teeters, equilibrium thrown off, and throws out a hand just to grasp the worn, warm leather of _Soul Evans'_ jacket. He seems taller than ever, towering over Ox, impressive glower in place, staring the smarmy know-it-all down with a foreign temper set deep in his features.

The universe must really have it out for her. She splutters, confused and disoriented, blurting, " _Soul?!_ "

He doesn't take his eyes off Ox for a second. "Thought you might not want to go back to detention so soon," he mumbles offhandedly. "What's going on over here?"

"N-Nothing, he just-" _Was antagonizing me and I was going to snap his glasses in half._ Maka swallows and turns, yanking on his jacket. He's so close and so warm and it does funny things to her stomach, things it shouldn't, because she's a woman on a mission and _Soul_ is not who she's looking for. She hadn't been expecting him, and for him to pop in so suddenly has thrown her a curveball.

"He what?" Soul asks, voice low. His voice rumbles her bones. "It definitely didn't look like nothing."

"He's _not worth it,_ " she insists.

It should be noted that the only reason she's changing her song and dance is because she's never seen Soul like this before. He's ordinarily so laid back, carefully maintaining a careless facade behind resting bitch faces and lazy half-smiles. He's never downright threatening, especially not while extending to his full, impressive height, one hand tightened into a fist, the other grasping her elbow securely. If Soul were just holding her back, mothering her as he often does (" _No, Maka, don't get into fights, time out!_ ") she would have no problem with throwing a punch at Ox.

But he isn't. And while his eagerness to stick his neck out for her and defend her is well appreciated - and kind of makes her want to kiss him all over his face - it also worries her. Soul is not the type to get into a fist fight. More often than not, he avoids confrontation like the plague.

As badly as she wants to see Ox pay for what he's said about Liz, it's not worth Soul losing his cool over. It's not worth letting Soul get in trouble, not when he's done nothing wrong thus far.

Soul relents, finally, shooting Ox another stern look before letting her pull him back. They fall into step for a moment, just long enough for Ox to collect himself and blurt, "So is it Eater's turn now? I guess it was only a matter of-"

He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before Soul's closing the distance between the two of them with his fist. "She's a _PERSON,_ you fucking jackass, not a walking _slampiece!_ "

Vaguely, Maka notices as Soul's scowling and shaking his hand, he's not very good at throwing punches. It certainly got the job done, but she should maybe consider showing him how to properly hold a fist and where to tuck his thumb, because cool guy be damned, he rubs his knuckles with a telltale hitch in his brow. Speckles of blood stain his fingers - pretty, elegant fingers, made for piano recitals and _not_ fist fights. She might laugh if she weren't so surprised.

They exchange a look. Soul meets her eye and nervously, guiltily, offers her a smile. She takes his sore hand in hers and shakes her head incredulously.

Ox crumbles, shouting dramatically as he grasps his nose, and before he has a chance to pick himself back up and show Soul how it's actually done, Maka's pulling Soul away and sprinting out of the parking lot.

Her chat with Liz will have to wait. There are more important things at hand - like protecting Soul's pretty face from taking a beating, because Ox has never been just bark. She's sure Liz - and Aunt Marie, who is continually blowing up her phone, judging by the number of missed calls she has since she stormed out of dinner - will understand.


	10. Chapter 9

"I can't believe you punched him! In the _face!_ "

The blush burns all the way to the tips of Soul's ears, vibrant reds and pinks almost violent beneath the pale curtain of his hair. He scowls a little deeper, squirming beneath her gaze as he slouches onto the bathroom counter. His legs are entirely too long and dangle over the edge, bony knees and all, and Maka finds herself almost magnetized to the space between them. It's absurd how badly she wants to tuck herself against him, to let him wrap himself around her and hold tight. Would it solidify her place as the town bicycle if she lets herself linger on thoughts of his hips and his thighs?

She blinks back her wants and instead takes his hand in hers again. His knuckles are pink and purple - delicate, pretty fingers clenched up in pain.

"It was nothing," he mumbles, still gloriously pink.

"In the _face!_ "

He attempts to further hide behind his mop of hair. He sinks back, like a turtle seeking shelter in his shell, shoulders bunching as the collar of his jacket shields his dimples from her wandering eyes. She puffs out her cheeks and brushes a thumb over the thin skin of his wrist in featherlight strokes.

Soul stares at the sink beside him determinedly. "He had it coming."

" _Still,_ " Maka insists, still surprised it had even come to that - in all of her time knowing him, Soul had never snapped like that before - sure, he got angry on rare occasions, but never quite so quickly. Like a snipped wire on a bomb. "You didn't have to do that. He's just trying to get under my skin."

He grunts and squirms. She can feel his pulse beneath the pads of her fingers and it lights her with the same heat that burns his face. "Doesn't mean it's right," he grumbles. "You shouldn't have to put up with that. He's got no business talking shit about you-"

"-I haven't exactly been dismissing the rumors," she admits, biting her lip.

Soul meets her eye and her nerves fizzle. His eyes are red and honest, exhausted and aching with a sort of fatigue that she can't read but understands in her soul. There's something in his stare that makes her feel raw. There are no lies between them in that moment, no pretenses or masks, just a girl with bruised pride and a boy with a dangerous protective streak.

He can't even manage a smile. She misses his dimples.

"It doesn't matter what you do, Maka," he says quietly. She clenches the damp facecloth in her hand and dabs more dutifully at his stained knuckles. "It's nobody's business but your own. _He_ can suck a dick."

She moves to rinse the terrycloth in the sink. His hand is sudsy with handsoap and smells faintly of roses. Soul and floral aren't two things that normally go hand in hand, but it's oddly fitting in a way. And funny. Maka scrubs at his skin gingerly, rubbing away speckles of Ox's blood and Soul's own damage, where his fingernails clenched too deeply and drew red.

He flinches in her grasp. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine," Soul says to the ceiling. "Thanks. And uh, sorry. For losing my cool."

She quirks a smile at him. "You never had any to begin with."

He chuffs. "Lies and slander, bookworm. I'm the coolest guy in your life."

Which isn't a lie. Sure, he may not be the textbook definition of cool at his core - because he does care about things, perhaps too deeply, and while he does an alright job of hiding it, Maka finds she knows him well enough to read between the line. What really makes him cool, she thinks, is how he can still look at her like she's still just his nerd friend with too many sweaters and a love for the dictionary. He doesn't look at her the way Ox does, or the way her Papa had after he learned the true origin of her pictures - he looks at her like she's just Maka.

He's a little worried about _just Maka,_ that's all. He's just never sunk to talking with his fists before.

She cradles his hand in her palms. Besides a few bruises, he's clean of the evidence. It's more than she can say for herself; Ox might bitch and moan about his bloody nose, but Soul's reputation is otherwise spotless.

"You know," he mumbles, "I think this is the first time I've ever been in your bathroom."

"It's how all of my hookups start."

He eyes her flower-printed shower curtain with a quirked brow, significantly less pink than only moments before. "You really know how to turn a guy on," he quips dryly, rubbing his knuckles idly as Maka rinses her own hands in the sink. He watches her move, still slouched awkwardly on her counter, too lazy to pull himself back up and stand. "Maka?"

"Huh?"

Her pigtail is tugged - a cry for attention - and she tilts her head to stare at him. He's pretty even in fluorescent lighting, almost luminous, and it makes her angry; how dare he have such long lashes and smooth lips?

Soul clears his throat. "Are you okay?"

"I mean," she laughs anxiously, "Everyone thinks I'm a whore but, you know, it's whatever."

His eyes pin her down. She's rooted to the spot, under his microscope, and only hopes that the cheap lighting will hide the way tears burn the corner of her eyes.

"I don't," he says simply.

She shakes her head, pigtails whipping. "You've heard what everyone is saying. And I know you heard me at Kim's party - I think I am kind of a whore. Or at least a bad person."

The way he twirls her hair around a finger is distracting. She stares at her reflection only to find herself red faced, lower lip bitten as Soul lazily twirls strands of dishwater blonde through his long fingers. It's demure, almost, and vulnerable, and very much not the braless powerhouse she's been trying to be for the past twenty four hours.

He rumbles, saying, "I really only listen to what you say," and she knows she's burning brighter, but it's okay, because she sneaks a peek at him and he's blushing, too. But his eyes are solemn and honest, expression void of any malicious or teasing preface, and the annoying fluttering in her chest returns full force. "And you haven't really had much to say lately. Which is weird, y'know, because you usually talk a mile a minute and I have a hard time keeping up with you."

She sucks in a thick breath. "I-"

"Maka," he says seriously. "What's going on? If this is what you want to do, that's fine - I might have to get some boxing gloves, whatever - but you don't really seem _happy._ "

She doesn't know what she wants anymore. Maybe for the entire student body to not know what her unimpressive, tiny boobs look like, or maybe to take back her disappointing false loss of virginity and lock it up tight for another time. Waking up to boys she's never talked to outside of class in her DMs is degrading, and suddenly she's not at all envious or jealous of girls with bombshell bodies and a harem of men trailing in their wake.

"I don't-" she chokes. "It's all fake."

"What?"

"The _sex,_ " Maka stresses, pressing her hands tight to her face. She drags down, smudging her already shoddy mascara job down her freckled cheeks. She really wants to tear her hair out, or something, because there's frenzied honesty brewing in her that's waited patiently for much too long. " _Everything_. I haven't had sex with anyone, I was just trying to get out of being Liz's wingman so I made up a lie, but I tried to prove it with a picture and sent it to the wrong person, and-"

"Whoa, whoa," Soul says, finally hopping down from his perch. "Slow down, what?"

"-And I'm sorry for flirting with you in the hallway, I know you're not into me like that and it must've been awkward, but everything just got so out of hand with that stupid party and I really, really hate Hiro's boyfriend, and-"

" _Maka!_ " Soul exclaims, hands clapping down on her shoulders. A dam has burst, surely, and the truth still threatens to burst out of her like fireworks but she silences, barely, beneath the weight of his stare.

_Breathe in and out,_ she thinks. Easy girl. _There._ That's it, _that's your nerve._ Maka bucks up, staring Soul in the face as the anxiety leaks from her in dense bursts. Her head feels considerably lighter. Her stomach sure feels less likely to combust, too, but she still feels still at risk of drowning in the heat of his eyes.

"Sorry," she blurts anyway, tiny and defeated. "Sorrysorry."

His hands cup her shoulders more firmly. "I- Why're you apologizing to me? You haven't done anything to me - yeah, the flirting was a little weird, but - what do you mean _you know_ I'm not into you like that?"

Big, fat tears roll down her cheeks and god, does it feel good to finally cry about it. She wipes them away with the heel of her palm, gurgling childishly when he says her name in a strangled, worried voice and cradles her face in his hands. One of his palms is warmer than the other, and the damp one sticks to her cheek and leaves a dewy chill in his wake.

"You didn't want to kiss me," she admits quietly. It feels so silly to say aloud, but he's here and listening and she's never had much of a censor. "In eighth grade, at Kim's party…"

He sucks in a breath. The wet thumb traces her cheekbone, probably rubbing away the smudged remnants of her makeup. "That was _years_ ago. I was thirteen."

She blinks damply. "And-?"

"And," he interrupts, pink crawling up his neck, "I was nervous and not ready for my first kiss. It wasn't the _who,_ it was the _what._ "

The confession reads deafeningly between the lines, and she's quite sure her heart's about to beat out of her chest. Without second guessing or over thinking, she blurts, "Are you ready _now?_ "

His brows skyrocket. Her stomach does much the same, shooting right into her throat, but he nods slowly, hovering closer and closer, and then Soul answers with his mouth and no words.

Five years later, crammed in her tiny bathroom, she finally kisses him. It's not perfect, because Soul has sharp teeth and she's thoroughly inexperienced, but his lips are warm and soft and he cradles her face gently as one might with something very percious. For the first time in a long while she feels precious, cherished, even, and then Soul opens his mouth and shifts against her and his tongue is even better than she could have dreamed, however messy and unpracticed the kiss might be.

They find their rhythm quickly, though. Once they're past finicky things like nicked lips and noses, her hand is in his hair and Soul does his best to swallow the anxiety that's been brewing within her for days. Surely her heart will burst with the way it's swelling and throbbing within her, she thinks, and when Soul murmurs her name in dazed wonder and presses his forehead against hers, she can't help but blubber a bit and clench the fabric of his shirt between her fingers.

Good things come to those who wait. "Oh," she blurts stupidly.

She can feel him smile against her lips and it's the best thing. "Hmm?"

"You… how long?"

He leans back and looks at her thoughtfully. He's begun twirling her pigtail again, only it feels twice as intimate as before. Soul looks immensely pleased with everything in life as he says, "A while."

" _Soul!"_

"Alright," he relents, a little more shyly. "Eighth grade."

"I- _really?_ "

"You didn't push me to do it. It was really cool of you," he admits. "Plus you were super smart and pretty and you always smelled nice, and- _stop laughing!_ "

Maka bites back her giddy giggles and gives his shirt a hearty tug. He drifts closer, right up in her personal space, only he's welcomed there and she barely resists the pressing urge to kiss him again. "Sorry, I just-! I've liked you for so long and the past few weeks have been so terrible, and just…" She blows out a breath as he pushes her bangs from her eyes. "That's just really good news. Thanks."

His eyes crinkle fondly. "Don't thank me for liking you, stupid. You'll do greater things in life than swap spit with me."

Not likely. In fact, it's hard for her to tear her eyes away from his mouth. Now that she knows what kissing him is like, she doubts it'll ever be far from her mind.

Still, though - perhaps there are more pressing matters than perfecting the art of sucking face with Soul Evans, no matter how nice his expensive cologne smells and how soft his lips are. She locks this moment away for later, to sit and think on when it's late at night and the seductive lull of sleep just isn't enough to will her away from her fantasies.

Before anything else, Soul is her friend. Her confidant. And there's no one she trusts more.

"What should I do?"

He blinks, thoroughly distracted as he touches every part of her flushed face. "Huh?"

"I don't know how to fix this. If I tell Liz, she'll hate me, but if I don't tell her things are just going to get worse…"

His brows raise. "Tell her the truth."

"But-"

"Liz will forgive you," Soul says. "Sure, she might be a little annoyed but - she's worried about you. Trust me, she'll appreciate the honesty."

Feeling weightless and drunk off the butterflies fluttering in her tummy is bizarre and makes it hard to focus on the underlying guilt of lying to her best friend. Perhaps she is her father's daughter after all; the bulk of her problems are not solved instantaneously from just one kiss with a pretty-eyed boy, but it certainly makes things easier to deal with. Or maybe it's just a suitable distraction, an escape of sorts - she's quite tempted to flick the lock on the bathroom door, wrap her arms back around him, and let herself make up for lost time.

Soul licks his lips deliciously. Maka swallows thickly, and says, "I don't know," she answers futilely. "I have to talk to Hiro-"

His expression sours. "If he was the one who talked you into that party, I have a few choice words for him-"

"You _will not!_ That was my choice, Soul. I made the decision to help him, no matter how _convinced_ I had to be to make it." She pouts, busying herself with straightening out the collar of his jacket. Knowing that she was the one to do that, to mess his appearance and ruffle his hair - well, Soul always did look cuter when he was disheveled. "He was really desperate and after lying to Liz, there was no way I could've left him to fend for himself. It's his boyfriend I really have a problem with. Hiro just has terrible taste."

"Doesn't it take like, three to tango, in this case? He was still an involved party," he asks.

"But it wasn't his idea! Cal wanted him to, and he just…! He has really terrible taste," Maka stresses. " _Awful terrible._ "

Soul rolls his eyes. "You can't save him from that, Maka. Just talk to Liz, okay? Tell her the truth."

She hums in the back of her throat and gives his jacket another tug. She's mumbling, "Yeah, okay," even as she's pulling him down for another kiss. _For the road,_ she tells herself, but knows in her heart it's because she finally _can_ and if that's not the best thing that's happened to her all week, she doesn't know what is. Kissing him feels like victory, long overdue victory, and he's the prize, wrapped up in worn leather and soft, secret smiles, just for her. It's impossible for her not to feel special when he cradles her face in his hands and pays his respects to her nose, forehead, cheeks, anywhere and everywhere, as long as it's her.

* * *

"What do you mean you _broke up?!_ "

Hiro smiles apologetically. "We're through? Honestly, I thought you'd be happier to hear the news. I could tell you didn't like him much."

Well, it certainly takes a load off, and makes the entire stressful ride to Hiro's place seem silly, but sure, she's happy about the news. She lets out a heavy breath and sinks back against the couch, watching Soul drop down onto the floor to properly greet Hiro's pet dog with a hesitant relief coiling in her chest. He looks up to her after a beat, tiny papillon wiggling on his lap and blessing him with puppy kisses all over his face, and offers a crooked smile.

She holds her hands in her lap and shakes her head. "It's good news! I mean, he was… you can do better. You will do better."

"Why'd you decide to dump him?" Soul pipes up, shifting to cradle the dog in his arms. Maka has to bite back her grin; he's adorable, sitting there and holding the puppy as if it were his child, pressing tiny kisses to the puppy's furry little head gently. He's somewhat of a gentle giant and it melts away her concerns like butter. Maka's quite sure it's not possible to be worried about much of anything while watching a self proclaimed _cool guy_ snuggle a tiny animal.

Hiro seems moved by the display, too. He stares for just a bit too long before catching Maka's shifting gaze and snapping out of it. "He sneezed," he says innocently.

Soul snorts. "What."

"... I really don't think that's his biggest offense-" Because Maka still remembers the pleading, desperate look in Hiro's eyes while he begged her to help him out, because Maka still remembers that the entire stupid threesome charade was _Cal's idea_ and nobody else's, because she's still bitter and _how can anyone guilt their partner into having a fake threesome for attention?!_

He shrugs flippantly. "He sneezed a lot," he admits, face finally scrunching up. "You know… in really inopportune moments. And he just wouldn't stop."

She stares blankly at him. Of all the reasons to break up with an emotionally manipulative boyfriend… _his sneezes?_ That was his breaking point? It just seems silly. Maka can forgive a lot of things - annoying bodily noises included - but the pressuring into uncomfortable situations is where she draws the line. Especially considering the fallout; between her own predicament and first hand account of Hiro's desperation over the entire thing, there's no freaking way she could ever forgive him. And certainly not enough to continue going out with him for a good week after the fact.

Then again, she would have dumped him upon suggestion of a threesome, fake or otherwise. She's come to find that while it might be for some people, it's not for her, and the entire thing has left her rather burned.

THe puppy whines and squirms in Soul's arms. He shifts and pulls himself onto the couch beside her, still nestling the tiny bundle of fur close to his heart. The way he looks at the baby, regardless of species has her feeling some type of way, and she swallows it down at once, instead electing to smile softly when he leans closer and kisses the dog's tiny little nose.

Hiro laughs behind his hand. "So, are you two finally a thing?"

"A thing?" Maka yelps, voice unnaturally high.

He shrugs apologetically. "Half of the class has been expecting you two to get together for years. The flirting is painful to watch."

"The _flirting,_ " Soul says.

"You drove her here."

He scowls. The effect is completely shattered by the tiny puppy trying to lick his face and whimpering when he can't do just that because his legs are too short. "It's quicker to drive," Soul reasons, but then glances at her carefully, as if checking if his answer is acceptable. As if he's wondering if they're _finally a thing_ or not himself.

Sitting taller, she clears her throat. " _Anyway_ , on the topic of your breakup-"

"I'm sorry I pulled you into it," Hiro admits, startlingly guilty. Soul breathes through his nose loudly. "It was wrong and you've had a rough time because of it. Sorry."

"About that," Maka starts, biting her lip. "I need to come clean. I don't want to lie about it anymore. _Originally_ I was worried that you'd be against the idea because it would put your relationship at risk, but since you're not really together anymore…"

"Tell the whole world for all I care," Hiro pipes up happily. "I can help!"

"As nice as that is of you, I think I can handle it myself. It's about time I start telling my own story and stop letting everyone else do it."

Enough is enough. As awkward as it'll be, as diminishing to her pride as it will be to admit that she lied to so many people, her best friend included, it has to be done. Just telling one person has already lifted the weight of the world off of her shoulder considerably - but then again, it was Soul, one of the people she'd been the most concerned about, so maybe it wasn't so surprising that finally coming clean to him alleviated some stress.

Hiro seems to agree. He nods almost sagely, expression decidedly neutral as he shifts to take another sip of his drink. Then, when Maka's distracted with leaning over to greet the puppy, he says, "Sorry."

She glances back at him. "Huh?"

"I'm the one who asked you to lie for me in the first place. You didn't really want to do it," he admits, shrinking under Soul's stern stare. Maka nudges his arm and he relents, though he scowls while doing so. "Sorry. Uh, again."

"It's fine," she lies gently.

Soul nudges her now instead, brows drawn, expression still flinty. He shakes his head and something bubbles in her gut, leftovers from days past, of sitting quiet and forcing a crude smile while gross boys make thrusting gestures down the hall behind her.

"... Okay, it's not fine," she says instead. "But it was my choice ultimately to help and that was my mistake, not yours. You didn't do it to hurt me."

"Never," he says seriously. "But I still regret it. It was my fault you got into the whole mess. And even after I told you how fucked up lying about it was... " he laughs self-deprecatingly and stares into his empty cup. "I'm not a great friend."

Maka resists the urge to inform him that they weren't really close friends to begin with. She really doesn't think sharing two classes freshman year really qualifies as a tight-knit friendship; their acquaintance is not based on mutual trust and understanding. Instead of speaking up, she tucks her hands onto her lap and exhales belatedly, still dizzy from the emotional whiplash of the day, despite it being only about seven at night.

She offers him a slight, forgiving smile and he takes it willingly. Sure, all the wounds might not be closed, and she still has a few choice words for his shitty ( _ex,_ thank god) boyfriend, but it's probably time to let bygones be bygones. There's no real point in holding a grudge against Hiro, especially since it had been her choice to help him out; her festering guilt over lying to Liz is the true villain, not Hiro's cry for help. Which reminds her - she still has to confess to Liz, and that has her feeling all kinds of stressed out.

Something tells her Liz will be a lot less forgiving of a simple white lie that turned into the worst week of her life. At the very least, she's bound to be a lot more upset over the whole thing, and with good reason; Maka hasn't acted or felt like herself in days, and apparently it shows.

Soul crooks a half smile at her. "Feel better, Usher?"

"Who?"

"... Usher. He sang _Confessions Part II_. I- do you listen to music at all?"

"Of course I do! Just not your obscure stuff!"

He laughs incredulously. "Usher isn't obscure!"

She looks to Hiro helplessly. He fails at smothering his teasing grin as he says, quite brutally, "He's in the music hall of fame," and Maka deflates spectacularly. Not even the puppy's cute tail wagging can save her from embarrassment, and she shrinks back in her seat, the cellphone in her pocket digging uncomfortably into her thigh as she pouts.

Oh, right. Her _phone._

Almost hesitantly, she slips it out of her skirt pocket and taps the home screen. Sure enough, there are ten missed calls and five voice mails, most of which are from Aunt Marie and Papa. Color her unsurprised. Still, though, a fresh weight hangs on her and she sinks back into the couch, worrying her lip and debating whether or not to finally send a text back and let them know that she's fine or let herself play wayward daughter for a little bit longer. It would be so much easier to keep avoiding Papa, to not have to dwell on that particular headache, but it's beginning to get later, and while she feels a lot closer to Soul post-face sucking, it's probably maybe too soon to propose any bedsharing.

Which means it's time to put on her big girl panties and actually talk to her gross Papa, if she wants to actually sleep in a bed tonight and not on Black*Star's lumpy couch.

_Lovely_.

Soul plops the dog in her lap and then tugs on a pigtail. "Okay?"

The puppy wiggles and hops up to kiss her face, too. It marginally alleviates her dread. She doubts talking to Papa about what went down only hours before will actually be the worst part - but watching his self-proclaimed slut of a daughter ride in on the back of a motorcycle with a leather jacket-clad boy will be another story.


End file.
